Conversations Between Two McKinley High Students
by Glow
Summary: ...who are not friends. At all. Or: Moments where Noah Puckerman is not a total *bleep* to Rachel Berry.
1. I play the hind end of the steed

**Rating**: T, for the F word.

**Characters**: Puck, Puck/Rachel-ish

**Spoilers**: Up to The Rhodes Not Taken

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Glee or any of these fab characters.

**Notes**: _Glee _has eaten my brain. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last story! It really encouraged me to write more. This fic is brought to you by my iPod Touch and insomnia. This is probably going to be a series of really short pieces. My goal is 11 but it may be less. Once again I can not think of a chapter title but music comes to the rescue. Again, not beta read. All mistakes are my own and feel free to point them out.

**Conversations Between Two McKinley High Students**

**i. I play the hind end of the steed - **

After sectionals, where names had been taken and asses had been kicked, the Glee Clubbers gathered the next day for a little celebration. Puck was unwilling to be seen with any of the original New Directions members, yet there he was.

Mostly because he didn't have a choice. "You chose to be a member of Glee club, Noah. You're going." And that was the end of that 'discussion.'

Parents had been invited, leading to his current predicament.

Rachel Berry was talking to his mom.

He generally kept his home and school lives separate. Very separate. He'd worked very hard to build a wall between the two. It had taken a lot of years and many fake signatures.

But Mr. Schue had called all of the parents so Puck had been unable to conveniently forget to tell his mother about the victory party. Like he often conveniently forgot to bring the parent/teacher interview form home with him.

Not that he was in any way ashamed of his mother. They got along very well. He knew her well enough to know that she'd have a very big problem with some of his behavior.

And by behavior he meant his treatment of some of his less popular classmates.

Especially Rachel Berry.

Last night, on the drive home, he'd had a bad feeling about showing up to this thing. His mom was, apparently, a big Rachel fan.

He tried to explain the real Rachel Berry. The creepy intensity, general weirdness and cracked out determination. The gold freaking stars.

That was 'adorable.' "Trust me Noah," she'd said, "that girl will be an amazing woman some day."

Whatever. What did that even mean?

Rachel was adorable like a mini-Doberman was adorable. Until it bit off your finger with its evil, sharp, mini shark teeth.

Puck was not a fan of little dogs. He'd had a bad experience. Any dog that had to wear a sweater to fight off hypothermia was not really a dog, was his opinion.

Anyway.

He'd been standing with his mom, Finn and Finn's mom, enjoying a loaded plate of food. Minding his own business. There was a conversation about weeds. The garden kind. He was not participating.

Principal Figgins had (predictably) cheaped out on the Glee Club's reward for winning. Mr. Schue had anticipated this and had asked the parents to bring food.

The resulting buffet was a mixed bag. He was giving the plate of weird cheeses Brittany's mother had brought a wide berth. Artie's mom's oatmeal raisin cookies, though? So good. Where had these cookies been all his life?

He might have to suggest they hold a Glee meeting or two at Artie's place. Or maybe Artie had a pool. He'd look into it.

So they'd been standing there. The moms: chatting. Finn and Puck: eating. Rachel had walked by with a plate mostly filled with vegetables and some of the questionable cheese.

Chicks.

His mom had intercepted her. Damn it.

"Hi, Rachel, right? I'm Natalie Puckerman, Noah's mom."

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Puckerman."

Rachel seemed almost... shy. Normalish. Weird.

"You can call me Natalie, honey. All Noah's friends do." Puck concentrated on his plate. He and Rachel were so not friends. So never would be friends. "I just wanted to tell you how fantastic you were in the show! You have an amazing voice for such a little thing."

That was a little embarrassing.

"Thank you! That's always nice to hear, Natalie."

Which was a much more modest reply than he had expected. Perhaps Rachel's social oddness did not extend to adults.

"Hey Rach," Finn had finally managed to stop chewing, "this is my mom."

"Jean. You really were so great. Finn's told me you've helped him a lot."

Finn turned pinkish. Pussy.

"Oh, well Finn's a great singer. He didn't need much."

Finn got ever redder. Puck snickered and had Finn not been holding a plate, Puck would have gotten punched.

Rachel's dads had made their way over to the little group and the four parents got acquainted. One of Rachel's dads owned a restaurant. The other was a dermatologist. Finn's mom asked a question about chemical peels.

Again, chicks. Gross.

It could be worse. Puck had a mole on his back that his mother checked obsessively every single time she could see it. He half expected she took pictures when he was sleeping to compare. Tubes of sun block often appeared in his backpack. He wouldn't have been surprised if his mother brought that mole up. Extra embarrassing.

Puck was waiting for one of Rachel's dads to point to him and say something like, 'So, how'd a nice woman like you raise a little shit like that?"

Didn't happen.

Why didn't it happen? Rachel had to have gone home and whined about him (and his slushies) to her dads, right?

The parents laughed and seemed to be getting along.

Maybe she hadn't tattled. Puck eyed Rachel picking at a salad. Finn, Rachel and Puck had edged a bit away. She looked anywhere but at him.

Finn continued eating, oblivious. "You should really have some of these cheesy olive things, Rach. Yum." He stuffed several in his mouth and Rachel looked a little grossed out. The expression was quickly wiped from her face.

Puck was amused. Smooth, Finn. So smooth.

He decided to be direct, "So, Berry. Just how grounded am I going to be?"

Rachel looked at him, "Excuse me?"

"Medium, large, mucho grande, military school?"

"I take French."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Berry, seriously. I had some plans this weekend that I would rather not reschedule."

"I have not the faintest idea as to what you're alluding too."

"You didn't tell them?"

"If you're asking me if I discuss any quarrels I may or may not have, with miscellaneous components of the student body, with my Dad and Daddy, I do not."

Puck took a second to sift through that. At least half of those words weren't necessary. "So you're saying you don't run home crying to Daddies one and two every day?"

"That is what I'm saying."

"Oh. Cool. I have a pool to clean."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Yes it is."

"Ick."

"Don't knock it 'till you've tried it, Berry."

She rolled her eyes and was saved from replying when his mom asked her a question about her college plans. Rachel stepped closer as his mother told a story about the year they'd lived on the east coast.

He watched them out of the corner of his eye. Rachel Berry and his mother. Talking. He was not okay with this.


	2. I needed to think a spell

**Spoilers**: Up to The Rhodes Not Taken

**Disclaimer**: See first part.

**Notes**: Here's the next part! A little earlier than I thought, but I'm avoiding my stats work. Who else is excited for Wednesday? I just got the mash ups from iTunes. Love, love, love. Thank you so much to everyone for reviewing! I promise I don't really hate small dogs, though it may seem like it. Chapter title by Modest Mouse.

**ii. ****thanks for the time, I needed to think a spell**

It was a Sunday, less than a week from the next Glee competition. Puck was driving home from the market after an emergency garlic bread run. He and his mom didn't eat together during the week very often and she liked to go all out on Sundays. It was pouring rain with zero visibility and he was going way, way slower than he usually would have.

Up ahead there was a car on the side of the road. A purple Prius Shit. Just how many of those were there in Lima?

Next to the Prius there was a small figure, in a pink plaid blazer, struggling with a tire.

Purple Prius, pink plaid. Definitely Rachel Berry. Weekends were supposed to be Rachel free.

His first instinct was to speed up and soak her with dirty street water. She'd hate that. But Puck only contemplated that for a couple seconds. Okay, a minute, max. That was progress, right?

He drove past, kept his eyes on the road.

Then he got to thinking. Rachel was practically a midget. Probably didn't produce a huge amount of body heat. Not that he spent much time thinking about her body heat. Or her body.

Moving along.

Who knows how long she'd been out there? She was soaked and it was cold. What if she got sick? And her voice went? On the plus side: he wouldn't need to hear her speak. On the minus: they'd be totally fucked at the Glee meet.

And he did want to go to Nationals. They were being held in Atlanta and he'd never been.

God damn it. He did not want to do something nice for Rachel Berry. Stupid Rachel Berry and her stupid perfect voice.

He took a side street, turned, and did a loop through a cul-de-sac to come up behind her. He jacked up the heat and got out of his truck. Rachel barely glanced up before she yelled, "I have pepper spray! And I'm willing to use it!"

"Hey, now. Is that any way to treat a Good Samaritan?" Her hair was plastered to her face and her pants (and hey, she actually owned pants!) clung to her legs.

She squinted through the rain, "Puck? I thought you were a degenerate rapist."

"Nope."

"What are you doing here?" she sounded wary. Like he had psychic powers, and knew she'd be here, and had some rotten fruit saved up and handy for such an occasion.

"Singing in the rain, Berry, how 'bout you?"

"My tire's broken."

That was such a girl way to put it.

"Do you have any clue what you're doing?"

"Technically, I do. My dad's insisted I take a basic auto maintenance course before I got my license. It's just been awhile. I'm confident that I can do it. You can go."

Puck groaned. "Berry, go sit in my truck. This'll only take me a couple of minutes."

"Why?" she said, with a definite edge of suspicion.

"Because that Glee thing is in a couple of days. We can't win without you." That was almost a compliment, and the nicest thing he'd ever said to her. Possibly to any girl that he hadn't seen naked. Still, she hesitated. "Berry, seriously, I didn't rig the truck to do anything. It's warm, it's dry. Go sit."

"Fine. But if my car blows up you will be hearing from my lawyers."

She turned on her heel and flounced over to his truck. Since he didn't have running boards she had some trouble hoisting herself in. He did not offer to help. He had his limits. Plus, it was funny.

She hadn't done too terrible of a job, actually. The spare was out and the jack placed correctly. Better than most girls he knew. He got the spare on quickly, and with no trouble, jogged back to his truck, and got in. Rachel had her arms wrapped around herself and she was shivering, hard.

He could totally use the old 'let's get naked to keep warm' trick right now.

Puck reached behind his seat and fished out a blanket. He offered it to Rachel and she eyed it with distaste. "Is it laced with small pox?"

"What?"

"Nevermind. When's the last time that was washed?"

"No idea. But it's dry."

She considered, and then took it. She peeled her jacket off and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. The sweater she had on underneath was only wet in spots. She tucked her knees into her chest and covered them with the blanket too.

Rachel Berry was in a blanket cocoon in his truck. That was so messed up.

And not talking. She seemed to be shaking less, though. That was a good sign. If she died in his truck there was no way anyone would believe that he hadn't offed her.

Puck was not good at awkward silences.

"Do you want a ride home or something? I'm sure one of your gay dads could drive you back later for your car."

"No. I'll be fine in a minute."

"Sure? It's wicked cold."

"When one is accustomed to daily slushie baptisms a little freezing rain is manageable. Besides I still have an errand to run. And I'd have to explain what happened and they'd make me take that stupid course again. Grease is murder on the fingernails."

There was the useless babble he knew and loathed.

She looked up at him, "Thanks for stopping, Puck. It was uncharacteristically decent of you. Gallant, even."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I don't think anyone would believe me."

He laughed. Was that kind of a joke? Unexpected.

She eyed him like she'd never heard a dude laugh before. "Do you have some sort of personality transplant on weekends?"

"Yeah. Just call me Mr. Burns. 'Hello, children. I bring you love.'"

"I don't understand the reference."

"You've never watched _The Simpsons_? I always used to watch it when I got home from school."

"Dad and Daddy frown upon entertainment without intellectual value."

"You're missing out. Just about every problem in life can be solved with an episode of _The Simpsons_ and a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Where you headed anyway?"

"Pet store. Mrs. Snuggleton is out of food. I am not usually so lax, but I've been busy."

"Toy poodle?"

"Ferret."

"Shut up. You do not have a ferret."

"I do."

"You have a purse dog, don't you? You dress it in matching sweater sets. You're a purse dog kind of chick."

"You really have no idea what sort of person I may or may not be."

And that effectively shut him up.

"Mrs. Snuggleton would probably bite me if I tried to put her in a sweater. Say hello to your mother for me." Rachel clambered out of the truck. "Thank you for your assistance, Puck. I'll see you at school on Monday."

"Yeah. Later." He watched her get into the car and drive away before he put his truck into gear. He didn't notice until he was already at home, but she left her jacket behind. He brought it into the house with him and hung it up.

He got an inquisitive eyebrow from his mother as she stirred the sauce. Puck told her that Rachel had said 'hi.' He escaped to his room.


	3. Let's roll

**Spoilers**: Up to The Rhodes Not Taken

**Disclaimer**: See first part.

**Notes**: Part 3. Wherein Puck and Rachel are thrown together in Glee, sure to become a mega fandom cliché. Once again, I'd like to say 'thank you' for the reviews! I love that so many people are into Puck/Rachel. The bad boy thrall is tough to resist, I guess. Up next, possibly my favourite part thus far featuring: a road trip, people other than Puck and Rachel and cookies.

**iii. Let's Roll**

Mr. Schue had walked into Glee that day and told the assembled club members that he had a new project for them. He had paired them up, and selected songs for duets. Something about building trust and team work through song. Puck had stopped listening. Until he'd heard his name.

And Rachel's. Together. As in duet partners. Seriously? He was spending way too much time near Rachel Berry lately.

Mr. Schuester had allotted twenty minutes for the pairs to meet and plan before the whole group began rehearsing the numbers they were performing at the next competition.

Puck glanced around. The other groups were together. Finn and Quinn. Mercedes and Santana. Kurt and Mike. Artie and Brittany. Tina and Matt.

Mr. Schue was not subtle kind of guy.

He handed Puck sheet music to a song called, 'Set Yourself On Fire.'

Mr. Schue was so not a comedian. Was that a smirk Puck detected? He was pretty sure that teachers were not allowed to smirk at students.

Rachel was sitting about as far away from him as she possibly could while still being in the same room. It was kind of nice to know that he wasn't the only one trying to preserve the 'Puck and Rachel hate each other' dynamic.

She looked across the room at him. He looked back steadily. He was not about to move over there.

Finn slapped him across the back of his head. Not gently.

"Ow! Dude, what the hell?"

"Go over there. And be nice."

"Ha! Good one, man. Nice."

Finn glared. You'd think a glare from Finn would be intimidating, considering that the dude was kind of a giant, but it wasn't. Puck knew that in a fight they'd be fairly evenly matched. He spent way more time in the weight room and watching ultimate fighting than Finn did.

But Puck was still feeling kinda shitty about the whole 'sex with Quinn' thing. So he humored Finn and got up and walked over to Rachel.

He sat down next to her but didn't say anything. No greeting, and no digs at her clothes, her appearance or her personality. And wasn't that nice of him?

She took the sheet music from his hand.

"I've never heard this song. Have you heard this song?"

He grunted. Rachel correctly took that was a no.

In no time Rachel had whipped out her laptop and downloaded a copy of the song, the album, as well as a brief bio of the band. Stars. He bet she liked that, at least.

"Do you want me to e-mail you a copy? We can both listen to it tonight to become familiar and than meet up tomorrow to compare notes and ideas."

He ignored that she wasn't really asking. And he actually gave her his e-mail address.

Wow. He was capable of not being a total dick to Rachel Berry without parental supervision or ulterior motives. Who knew?

"Great! I have third period free, you?"

"Same."

"The choral room is free then. I usually use it to go through some material for MySpace but I suppose I can devote a day to this."

"Whatever."

Mr. Schuester called for them to get into position.

That evening, after football practice, and leftover spaghetti, he went over to his computer to check his e-mail. Rachel had sent the song Mr. Schue had assigned, as well as a fairly significant amount of text, which he did not read. She always used way more words than she actually needed to, so he figured that it wasn't important.

He listened to the song. A few times. He didn't love it, but he didn't hate it either. The guys' voice was nothing like Puck's, though. Plus the girl part was pretty much just background noise. Rachel would so not go for that. She'd probably insist upon the reverse.

His mom tapped on his door, and he said, "Come in." She was big on personal space. She was holding a basket of laundry and folded neatly on top was Rachel's jacket. He'd totally forgotten about that.

"Mom! I can't believe you washed it. She's gonna know I brought it in the house."

His mom looked at him like he'd grown a second head, "So? That was thoughtful of you, Noah. It was damp and might have started to mold."

"I don't do thoughtful things for Rachel Berry." Or anyone. But that would not go over well.

His mom rolled her eyes, "Well, you'll just have to suffer this once. I checked the label and this is not a cheap item of clothing. I want you to take it to school with you tomorrow."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, she was a part time seamstress, and very particular about the proper care and maintenance of clothing. That was why he did not do his own laundry, as he usually just threw everything in the dryer.

"Can't you just bring it with you to the Glee thing?"

"No. Besides, I'd forget. And what are we going to do with it here? You planning on cross dressing?"

"Like it'd even fit."

"True. And don't just crumple it up in your backpack. I slaved over a hot iron."

"Fine."

"Are you pouting?" Was his own mother laughing at him? Not cool.

"No."

"Good." Definitely laughing. The traitor. She closed his door on her way out and he pressed play on his computer to restart the song.

The next day he ran out to his truck between second and third period to retrieve the jacket (which he'd put in a plastic bag, because he wouldn't put it past his dear mother not to check the next time she saw Rachel).

Rachel was already at the piano when he entered the room with the sheet music spread out, "You're late. Did you listen to the song? I did and I think it's quite an onerous selection. I don't know what Mr. Schuester was thinking, as there are several songs on that same album much more conducive to a male/female duet then this one. 'The First Five Times,' for example, even though it seems to be about sex, and probably inappropriate…"

He would bet a good chunk of the money in his savings account that everything she'd just said had been in the e-mail that he didn't read. And why did Rachel Berry have to talk about sex so much?

He held the bag in front of her face, and she reeled back, like she expected it to explode.

"What… is that?"

"Present," he smiled an evil smile. If he was doing this he might as well fuck with her a little. He shook the bag a little more insistently, and she took it hesitantly with just her fingertips.

She peeked inside, "Oh! My blazer. Thank you! Daddy would have killed me if I'd lost this," she sniffed it delicately.

"My mom washed it."

"That was really nice. Of her."

"She's a total laundry dictator."

Rachel stared at him for a few moments in a way he found kind of alarming. "Right. I'll have to remember to say thank you the next time I see her."

"Okay."

"So this song," for once he was a little grateful to her for just plowing right ahead, "There's no way we can handle the instrumentation so I think we should really deconstruct it. You play guitar, right?" He nodded. "So you can do that and I'll handle the piano and we can make it kind of a call and response sort of thing? What do you think?"

"I think you're really working hard at all this team player, self-improvement, bull-shit Mr. Schue's been peddling."

She tilted her head to the side, "So is that acquiescence to my plan of action or do you have another idea for an arrangement…"

"No, I'm cool with yours. I didn't bring my guitar, though."

"There's a couple lying around in the instrument closet next door. There's a key in the bottom drawer of the desk, underneath the red mug." She turned to the piano and began to play.

Puck went to get a guitar.


	4. No one will be watching us

**Spoilers**: Up to 'The Rhodes Not Taken' with tiny references to a few of the spoiler videos.

**Disclaimer**: See first part.

**Notes**: Part 4 featuring Mike Chang, who I really hope has a line or two in the next ep. Who else has watched the boys mash up a million times? Finn's spazzy dancing is made of awesome. Chapter title from 'Why Don't We Do It In the Road.'

**iv. No one will be watching us**

A few weeks ago Mr. Schuester had called a meeting to figure out travel arrangements for out of town meets. Principal Figgins had refused to cough up the cash for a bus so the club members had to decide who would drive and permission slips had to be signed by all parents. Quinn, Rachel and Kurt were the only club members with what could be considered 'reliable' vehicles suitable to travel distances and Artie's mom was drafted as well, since her van had the stuff necessary for Artie's wheelchair.

Mr. Schuester had laid two rules. The first rule: each car had to contain at least one: original Gleek, Cheerio/member of the football team and chaperone.

Mr. Shue was all about team unity. Puck expected trust falls at some point in the future.

That had led to today. Puck was sitting in back seat of Rachel's Prius with Miss Pillsbury. Rachel was driving, with Tina C. riding shotgun. Tina was apparently one of those people who fell asleep as soon as they hit an open stretch of road.

It wasn't all that bad, actually (shockingly). Rachel had been surprisingly willing to compromise on music selection, they were switching between her iPod and his, due to what she claimed was 'a desire to be educated in all musical genres to prepare for her future endeavors.' He even had plenty of leg room sitting behind her.

The car was freakishly clean, though. He suspected that may have been largely for Miss Pillsbury's benefit, and then partly because Rachel was an anal control freak.

Finn was driving Quinn's car with Mr. Schue and his loony wife. Puck was glad he wasn't riding with them. He found being around Finn and Quinn super awkward and avoided it as much as possible. Finn had been too preoccupied to really notice and Puck was grateful.

Artie's mom was driving her van with Artie, Matt and Mike in it. She had kindly supplied Tupperware containers of cookies for each car. Puck had taken custody of them and was probably not going to share.

Kurt was driving his recently repaired sweet Navigator. Puck so lusted after that ride which, in his expert opinion, was epically wasted on Kurt Hummel. Kurt had Mercedes, Brittany, and Santana riding with him, chaperoned by Santana's mother. Kurt had put together a special playlist for the ride. Likely heavy on the Beyonce.

Several of the team member's parents were driving out early tomorrow morning. Rachel's dads, Finn's mom and his mom were carpooling. They'd really hit it off at that victory party last month. Again, weird. They could be best buds all they wanted as long as he and Rachel were kept out of it.

A couple of nights ago Puck had dreamed about a camping trip featuring Rachel, her dad's, him and his mom. They'd been water skiing. It had been highly disturbing. He tried not to think about it.

Mr. Schue's second rule was that they were required to stay within sight of the other vehicles, in a caravan, in a specified order. Finn and Mr. Schue were in the lead and were so strictly obeying all traffic laws that even Rachel, little miss perfect, was getting irritated.

Rachel let out another annoyed sigh. "Finn drives like my Grandma Opal. And she's severely arthritic."

Miss Pillsbury was flipping through an Us Weekly. "It's natural for a new father to be overprotective. Finn and Will... Mr. Schuester are just being cautious for the sake of their progeny. We'll get there in plenty of time to check in Rachel, don't worry."

"Cars are passing us, Miss Pillsbury. Completely ignoring the flow of traffic is just as dangerous as speeding." Rachel argued and reached for her cell phone in the center console.

"No cell while your driving, Rachel," Miss Pillsbury admonished.

"Ugh. Please, I'll just dial and put it on speaker. My eyes will stay on the road. I multi-task impeccably."

"Absolutely not. Recent studies into reaction times and cell phone usage are very clear about the dangers."

She squirmed in her seat. Clearly wanting to argue further but unable to do so because of her need to be an all out suck up.

"Just pass them," Puck spoke up.

"I can't just pass them. In Mr. Schuester's diagram I was very clearly labeled 'Car B.'"

"So?"

"So you want me to just ignore the diagram? Diagrams are important, Puck."

"Live a little, Berry," he said in a tone that he most often utilized while hitting on cougars.

Miss Pillsbury gave him a sideways glance.

Rachel was apparently unaffected. "I can't. Mr. Shuester said..."

Puck shushed her and pulled out his own phone, flipping it open. He put it on speaker and called Mike.

In lieu of 'hello' Mike answered with, "Dude, I'm going to be fucking ancient by the time we make it to Dayton. Sorry, Mrs. Abrams. Frickin' ancient."

"That's why I'm calling. I'm trying to convince Berry to nut up and take the lead."

"Berry, I'm begging you. Do it. For me and my sweet, sweet, yet to be properly wasted, youth."

Rachel wavered. Mike hadn't often been directly included in the football players' hazing of the Glee kids and so she'd accepted him into the club fairly easily. Especially after she'd seen him dance. "I can't. The guidelines for this trip were very clearly established..."

Puck interrupted her before she could really start running her mouth. "Come on, what's the worst that could happen? He needs all twelve of us to qualify, remember?"

"But…"

"We'll totally tell Mr. Shue that I made you do it."

"Do it!" Matt repeated.

Sometime during the conversation Tina had woken up and had gotten a hold of Mercedes on her cell, also on speaker.

"Is pretty boy sleeping at the wheel? I could run to Dayton faster than this and I ain't a runner."

"We want Rachel to p-p-pass them."

"I've been trying to talk Kurt into it too, but you know how he is about his baby."

"C'mon Rachel," Puck wheedled. He thinks this might be the first time he's used her first name to her face.

"Rachel," Tina echoes.

"Rachel, Rachel," Matt begins to chant and Puck can hear Mike and Artie join in.

"Guys, I don't think peer pressure is the answer," Miss Pillsbury begins weakly.

"Miss P. how many germs do you think are circulating through this car right now?"

Miss Pillsbury offers no further objections.

Mercedes, Santana and Brittney had joined the refrain.

"Just put your foot on the gas and do it, Rachel. You know you want to."

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," Tina and Puck chanted along with those on the phone.

"Diva, you're our only hope!" Mercedes yelled.

"Fine. Fine! But if Mr. Schuester punishes me for this, I will not be held responsible for my actions, Puckerman."

"Deal."

Rachel sped up, not even a lot, and easily passed Quinn's car, with Finn hunched over in the driver's seat. Puck waved cheerfully as they passed. Artie's mom and Kurt followed suit putting Mr. Schue's group in the rear, where they'd have to speed up or risk being left behind.

"Woo! You're my h-h-hero!"

"I really didn't think you'd do it," Puck admitted.

Rachel giggled, "Neither did I. Someday I may be asked to portray a rebellious teenager. I'm glad I'll have a reference."

Puck rolled his eyes. But he shared the cookies.

When Miss Pillsbury's phone rang, she sent it straight to voicemail.


	5. Perfumed in gasoline

**Notes**: Thanks for all the reviews! You guys are awesome. This might be the last chapter for a little while (I have midterms next week). But it's a little longer. I couldn't resist a _Bring It On_ reference, even though it's probably a little OOC for Puck to make it. Chapter title is from 'Hey Modern School Girl' by The Awkward Stage. Also, I realized I've been spelling Schuester wrong. Sorry! I'll go back and fix.

**v. Perfumed in gasoline for a girl who's only seventeen**

Their caravan had made it to Dayton and to the Holiday Inn where they were spending the night without any further incident. Well, they would have gotten lost but, with a little help from the Google map Rachel had stashed in the glove compartment, they were fine.

Puck had been completely unsurprised when she whipped it out. Trust Rachel to plan ahead.

Mr. Schuester had his panties in a bit if a twist about their highway maneuvering but Rachel had turned on the 'I'm ever so sorry! But I was just so, so excited,' mile a minute yapping that she so excelled at and Mr. Schuester had let it go pretty quickly. Rachel had turned away to hide her satisfied smile.

Miss Pillsbury had kindly stepped in with a question about their itinerary and Mr. Schuester was effectively distracted.

Puck was mildly impressed. He'd heard the rumors that Rachel had been the one to get Mr. Ryerson fired but he hadn't really believed them, despite the fact that Hank Saunders had suspiciously transferred mid-semester. Rachel just seemed so squeaky clean and prissy. Evidence now suggested that she was totally willing to fight dirty. He admired that in a person.

What would it take to get Rachel to use her power for evil? He'd think on it.

Still, at least she was inclined to be manipulative for the name of the Glee Club's best interests and physical comfort. The only reason they were able to stay at this hotel was because she'd managed to reclaim the money the car wash had raised. Allegedly, Rachel had managed to con a bank teller into stopping the check, with a sob story about how the choreographer had tried to make her anorexic. A night in a hotel was infinitely better than getting up at the ass crack of dawn to make the drive. Puck was not a morning person.

So Glee had a nice little money cushion that they absolutely were not telling Figgins about.

The group had been handed key cards, reminded of room assignments and rules, and told to go get some rest. Like a two hour drive was particularly strenuous.

Mr. Schuester had been unwilling to risk property damage and injury by mixing up the room assignments so Puck was sharing a room with Mike and Matt. Mike had been too slow at the 'not it' game and was stuck with the cot. Sucker. Their room was connected to the room Mr. Schuester and Finn were sharing. Artie and Kurt were across the hall.

The girls were on a whole other floor, probably in an attempt to prevent anyone for engaging in, what Principal Figgins had termed, 'any inappropriate conduct unacceptable from McKinley High ambassadors.'

Figgins's head was so going to explode when he noticed that Quinn had started busting out of her Cheerio uniform.

Besides, the girls had a chaperone in each room. What could possibly happen?

Matt and Mike had managed to fall asleep, thankfully neither appeared to be snorers, but Puck couldn't. He'd tried but found he was completely awake, alert and restless. Quietly, he wrote a note, obeying yet another rule, 'someone must know where you are at all times, no exceptions.'

All these rules massively sucked but it was a small price to pay for missing a day and a half of school and getting out of Lima for a bit, even if he was still in the great state of Ohio.

He headed down to the hotel lobby and veered into the restaurant. Actually leaving the hotel would be kind of pushing it, he figured. When he walked in, the hostess asked him if he was with one of the high school groups. She was kind of hot so he was tempted to say no but then the letterman's jacket had probably tipped her off.

"Yeah. McKinley High in Lima."

"Oh! Right this way." She led him to a table that was already occupied. By Rachel Berry, who looked to be working on her Chemistry homework. Typical. Puck hadn't even brought his homework. He would have asked for another table, any other table, but the hostess had slapped a menu down and flitted away.

Stupid hostess.

"Great. What're you doing here, Berry? "Rachel glanced up from her text, "Shouldn't you be getting some crucial beauty sleep?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Please. Like I need beauty sleep. If I got any more beautiful I'd be lynched by a mob of jealous dudes."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "I won't indulge your narcissism with a reaction."

"That's no fun," he sat down because he probably looked like an ass standing around, "Actually, I can't sleep."

"I would've liked a nap, highway driving always makes me sleepy, but I'm in a room with Miss Pillsbury."

Puck smirked, "Did she bring a black-light?"

Rachel shuddered, "Thankfully, no. That would be far too much information. She did bring a case full of miscellaneous antibacterial products. Some of them homemade. She's currently occupied with annihilating any trace of germs our hotel room has ever contained. I was concerned that the fumes might adversely affect my vocal performance tomorrow."

A waitress with a tray came up to the table and set a steaming cup and a muffin in front of Rachel before asking Puck if he would like anything. He ordered a milkshake and began to peruse the menu. The team was going out for dinner in two hours but so what? He was a growing boy.

"You know, dairy isn't a good idea for your voice so close to competition. You're verse is a critical part of the piece."

Puck waved a dismissive hand, "It'll be long gone from my system by performance time tomorrow." He looked up at her and watched as she visibly reined herself in. She'd been doing it a lot lately. He was curious, "What is the deal with that?"

"Pardon me?"

"That. The thing where you make yourself shut up. Not that I'm not grateful but a couple of weeks ago a freak fresh water tsunami wiping out the state of Ohio wouldn't have stopped your detailed explanation of exactly why I shouldn't have a milkshake. "

"I don't understand. Would you like a lecture?"

"Of course not. That's the point. You would have lectured me because you're Rachel Berry. You learned to sing show tunes before you learned to speak sentences and you lecture people even when they obviously don't give a fuck because you know everything there is to know about the singing and dancing and music. That's your entire personality. That's why everybody hates you." Puck paused and took a breath. Wow. Where had that come from?

Rachel's eyes had gotten shiny with tears and her face had crumpled for a moment but her chin was held high, defiant. Puck found he felt kind of bad. Sure he knew he'd probably made her cry before. The first times he'd gotten her with a slushier, at least. Seeing it was different, though.

The waitress, a woman in her fifties, gave him a dirty look as she set his milkshake down and turned to Rachel. "Can I get you anything else, honey?"

"No. Thank you, though." The waitress left, but not before giving Puck another warning look.

Puck shook his head, Rachel must give off some sort of signal. Some sort of 'I have no mom, love me' signal that women of a certain age picked up on and responded too. Hell, his very own mother did it.

She took a shaky breath, "Leaving aside the fact that you don't actually know the first thing about me, Puck, it has come to my attention that my actions are often... abrasive. You may not believe in Mr. Schuester's words about team work, but I have come to. After working with Mr. Ryerson and experiencing his, shall we say, unorthodox motivational techniques..." she trailed off, bit her lip and studied her placemat.

Yeah, he'd bet that had been tough. He'd kept his distance from Mr. Ryerson during the Acafella's thing, but he hadn't been unable to miss the creepy, hungry, eyes on him whenever he was dancing.

"Despite my talents, I am not twelve people and thus I cannot win alone. Anyway, suffice it to say that I have come to appreciate the atmosphere Mr. Schuester's ideas foster." Rachel focused on him again; apparently also more than ready to change the subject, "Shouldn't you be concerned that your social status will suffer should you be seen with me? Since everybody hates me?"

Puck cringed a little at having his words repeated but was glad she'd moved them back onto more familiar ground. A Rachel Berry with feelings and vulnerabilities and soft, sad eyes was not one he knew how to react to. She wasn't supposed to have feelings, just testicles.

"Who's going to see me? The only people that know us here are in Glee, and so they're seen with you too."

She smiled, "Fair point. You should instigate a sort of Rachel Berry specific 'don't ask, don't tell policy.'

He might not have smiled back at her but he found he kind of wanted to. "I'll bring it up. And hey, not everybody hates you. Matt, for example, is completely terrified of you."

"Oh he is not."

"Oh, he totally is."

"Matt Rutherford regularly tackles guys at least twice my size."

"I'm serious, Berry. He's convinced you've got some sort of twisted revenge plan going and that he won't live to see prom. He insisted on the bed farthest from the door. Go stand next to him tomorrow, start talking, and fish around in your bag. He'll flinch, I swear."

She raised a single eyebrow at him, "Any revenge I may or may not take will not be 'twisted,' Puck. My revenge will be perfectly timed and ingeniously executed for maximum psychological damage, not to mention absolutely impossible to trace back to me." Rachel finished her drink, threw a five on the table and stood up, "By the way, if Matt's farthest from the door, where are you sleeping?"

Puck could only blink as he watched her walk away; sure he wasn't imagining that little extra swivel to her hips. Rachel Berry had just deliberately mind fucked him.

Damn. She just might actually be an evil genius.

The next day she'd taken his suggestion and positioned herself right next to Matt as the team (minus Santana and Brittney, who were the hold up) waited in the lobby.

Except she didn't talk. Rachel caught Puck's eye and started humming 'Every Breath You Take.' Which was so much more brilliant. She hummed louder and louder until she outright started singing out the 'Oh can't you see / You belong to me' part. No one in the club paid her any mind, figuring that she was just warming up, or something.

Matt seemed to be developing a twitch and Puck desperately tried not to laugh out loud.

That was pretty fucking awesome; he had to admit, if only in his own mind.


	6. It's not a matter of you versus me

**Notes**: Just call me the queen of all procrastinators. This chapter contains copious amounts of Puck's mom (because I love her, even though I made her up), a little bit of Rachel's dads and developing sexual tension.

**vi. it's not a matter of you versus me**

Puck had slept in until noon, than spent most of Sunday afternoon in his room doing homework and messing around with his and Rachel's duet song on his guitar.

When he came downstairs at about 5:30 his mom looked up from the vegetables she was chopping and smiled. "Good! I was just about to get you. Could you set the table, please, honey?

There was something in her inflection that he did not like. He eyed her. She seemed… peppy. And was that a new shirt?

But he shrugged it off and went to the cupboard. He pulled down two plates.

"Five."

"Five what?"

"Five plates."

"Five plates?"

Shit. Was he secretly psychic? He somehow knew what was coming. This was exactly like something out of one of his nightmares. "Why would two people need to eat dinner off of five plates? That's just a wasteful amount of plates."

"Noah," she might have only said his name but it was clearly a warning, "quit saying plates."

"Mom. Please tell me you did not invite who I think you invited."

"You want me to lie to you?"

"Mom!"

"Cause if you really want me to lie to you I'll do it. I'll feel terrible about it, because you're my only child, but I'll do it because I love you."

He pointed at her, "I know what you're doing, Mom. I'm immune to it."

"And did I mention that when you were born you were turned around the wrong way, so I was in labor for thirty one hours?"

"Yeah. You've mentioned that."

"They'll be here in about ten minutes. Deal with it."

"Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"

"Because you would have finagled yourself a dinner invitation from Finn, or one of your other football friends, and been unbearably rude in the process?"

Damn it. She knew him way too well. "Rachel Berry and her two gay dads are coming to dinner," he said, just to make sure he understood the situation.

"That's right. And I don't know that I like that phrasing, Noah. I didn't raise you to be a bigot."

Oh shit. He was going to need to bribe Kurt Hummel. With something other than sexual favors. "Why, exactly, did you do this to me?"

"You're being dramatic. Am I not allowed to make new friends?"

"Why do your new friends have to be related to Rachel Berry?"

"To torture you, of course."

"Hilarious, mother. You should go on tour."

The door bell rang. Huh. He'd been kind of hoping that this had all been a joke. Or that he would wake up.

"Noah, seriously. In a few years you'll live somewhere else and won't need me so much anymore. I'll need more friends my own age. The Berry's are interesting, intelligent people and you will treat them as you would any other guest in our home, understood?"

Ugh. That was possibly the most effective guilt trip he'd ever been subjected to. "Fine. I still see through your tactics."

"Noted. Now would you like to get that?" Puck's only reply was a stony glare. "No? I guess I will." She hip checked him gently as she walked past, "Relax. And smile. How bad could it be?"

Relax. And smile? Doubtful. He took a deep breath. Well, at least he his Sunday evening wouldn't be boring. Awkward, sure. But not boring.

Puck grabbed glasses out of another cupboard. Being psychic was such a crap power. If he could really have a super power he'd totally want to be able to freeze time. Like that dude on _Heroes. _Teleporting would also be cool.

He looked up and there was Rachel Berry. In his kitchen. Wearing a soft looking green sweater.

"Hello, Puck."

"Hi." This was so uncomfortable. He couldn't say any of the usual things to her. Not with his mom and her dad's about to walk into the room. Puck opened the cutlery drawer and concentrated on counting forks.

"How..." Rachel cleared her throat, "how was your weekend?"

Good. He wouldn't be the only one suffering. "The usual. Football game, after party, Call of Duty."

The adults entered the room, saving Puck from having to ask Rachel how her weekend had been. The usual for Rachel was probably something like: color blocked my cardigans, brushed my hair one hundred times, sang every song from every movie musical released in 1954.

"Hi Mr. Berry. And Mr. Berry?" Puck greeted them politely. He hadn't meant for it to be a question but halfway through had realized he had no idea what the correct title to use was.

"It's fine. We got married in Canada a couple years ago, so we both use Mr. Berry for the purposes of Rachel's school and activities, though our marriage is not recognized here. You can call us Aaron and Richard, if you'd like."

"Okay."

Puck's mom broke in, "Canada? Did you like it?"

Puck mentally thanked her. His mom was an excellent conversation smoother.

"We love Canada!" Rachel all but squealed.

Aaron, Rachel's black dad, the dermatologist, put his arm around Rachel, "When Rach here was ten, all she wanted for her birthday was a Mountie hat."

"Daddy!"

"She wore it to bed for weeks," Richard, the dad who owned the restaurant, added (and Puck was quite impressed with his ability to recall personal details).

"Oh no. You two promised!" Rachel exclaimed.

Puck knew what was coming and would have done just about anything to stop it, "Oh that's so funny! When Noah was six, he wore his Spiderman Halloween costume to bed for a whole year. He cried whenever I insisted on washing it."

Oh God. "So Mom, when's dinner?" Why must she do this to him?

"It'll be ready in about forty minutes."

"Rachel and I are going to go up to my room and work on our duet. Okay? Good." He grabbed Rachel's arm and pulled her out of the room.

"Door open, Noah!" The parents laughed like that had been the funniest joke ever.

"This is so my nightmare," Puck muttered. He kept a hold of Rachel's arm all the way up the stairs and then he turned to her, backed her into the wall and said, "Look, Berry, there's only one way this is going to work. We're going to get through dinner and then we're going to forget it ever happened and never, ever, speak about it to each other or anyone else. What happens at Puck's house stays at Puck's house, deal?

"Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. "Do we or do we not have a deal?"

"We have a deal, Puck."

"Okay," he looked down at her. They were standing, really, really close and he could feel her body lightly pressing into his at several points. Also, despite all the jokes he and the Cheerios had made, he was noticing that Rachel was definitely soft and definitely girl shaped. And her hair smelled good.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked away, "My room is this way."

It took her a few moments to follow, and he had seated himself on his desk chair and picked up his guitar.

When she walked in she looked around but didn't say anything. "What's your problem, Berry, never been in a boy's room before?"

He hadn't really meant to sound so harsh but he couldn't help it. He'd seen the house that she lived in. And yeah, at the time, he'd been busy throwing eggs, but he wasn't blind or stupid. Rachel's parents obviously did well for themselves. She lived in a much bigger, newer house than he did.

"Actually this is a first for me. Your room is cleaner than I would have expected." She sat on his bed gingerly and tucked her legs underneath her. The skirt she was wearing rode up on her thighs.

Puck didn't want to look but come on! Asking him not to look would've been like taking a bath in meat juice, jumping into the ocean and asking a shark not to eat you. Unnatural.

He was going to revisit her legs at a later date, preferably when he was alone, and could think about them wrapped around his hips.

He tried not to be obvious about the fact that he was checking her out. "So just how much time have you spent thinking about my bedroom?"

She reddened and began to splutter, "I didn't mean your room specifically! I meant it generally. Your bedroom is cleaner than I would have anticipated it being given the average American teenage boy's ambivalence to cleanliness and questionable personal hygiene."

Damn, but this was kind of fun. He found her highly entertaining, all blushing and flustered. "My hygiene isn't questionable, Berry. I shower every morning, and again after football.

"No! I didn't mean it that way. I know you do. Not that I think about you in the shower. I mean showering. I don't think about you when I shower either, obviously. You always smell fine."

Puck wheeled his chair over a bit and looked her in the eye, "You can feel free, you know."

"I can feel free to what?"

"To think about me while you shower." She buried her face in her hands and made a strangled noise. Puck realized that he was totally flirting with Rachel Berry.

He did not know how he felt about that.

She hopped up off of the bed so fast that Puck started a little. "Bathroom?"

He pointed, "End of the hall."

Rachel fled.

Why the hell had he been flirting with Rachel Berry?

She stayed in the bathroom for quite awhile and when she returned her face was once again its regular color.

Rachel started to say something but was interrupted when his mom yelled up the stairs, "Noah? Rachel? Dinner!"

"We'd better get down there, Puck."

"After you," he gestured for the door but she didn't make a move toward it.

"Puck, I..."

"Noah! Put down that guitar this instant and come eat."

"We're coming," he called back, then turned back to Rachel. "Well?"

"I... I am really hungry." Rachel hurried downstairs. Puck followed.

He'd been correct earlier. He wasn't bored. Not bored at all.


	7. kind of girl that you would never leave

**Notes**: This chapter is brought to you be the Swine Flu which my lab instructor apparently has (though not a really serious case, she says). My lab was cancelled and I had a whole three hours to kill, and I only had my zoology books with me, the one class I don't have a midterm for. Convenient, no?

**vii. the kind of girl that you would never leave**

Puck had put his package of little blue pills way in the back of his desk drawer after he and the guys had performed. He enjoyed pilfered beers and the odd joint as much as the next guy. A racing heart, sweaty palms and being not a bit tired after doing sixty push ups and a few hundred crunches? Not so much. He'd ended up crashed out on the floor in front of his closet, using a baseball mitt for a pillow that night.

Also, Kurt had slapped his ass during their post performance celebrations. And Puck hadn't really cared. Talk about a wake up call.

Rachel Berry always talked too much and too fast. Even so, Puck had been taken aback by her impression of a cracked out hummingbird when she'd introduced the girls' mash-up.

Angels? Really?

The song was kind of infectious though and he caught himself chair dancing a little like a total dork. The other guys were doing it too, so he didn't feel too mortified. At the end of the performance, where Rachel had managed to hit a note and produce a sound that he hadn't even been aware a human being was physically capable of, he'd clapped along with the other guys.

The girls rushed out, giggling and talking. Rachel practically tackle-hugged Mr. Schuester. Something was off. Puck trailed the other guys out of the room and it dawned on him: the girls' must have made a trip to the nurse.

He was pissed. Quinn was pregnant! The pills had given him the shakes, so he couldn't imagine what they'd do to a baby.

He picked up his pace and hurried to the dance studio that he knew they sometimes used as a dressing room.

Mercedes and Tina exited, dancing, and paid him no mind. Brittney and Santana came out next, back in their uniforms. Santana gave him a snotty look, conveniently forgetting that _she'd_ been the one to dump _him_. Brittney totally ignored him and did three cartwheels.

Quinn emerged next, alone, thankfully. "Hey After School Special, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Quinn smacked him in the chest with her Bio book. "Keep your voice down," she glanced around the hallway, which was empty, "Coach Sylvester has been watching me like a hawk lately."

"Good luck with that. Check your bedroom for hidden cameras. You want to explain to me what you're doing? Our baby's going to have gills or some shit."

She hit him again, hard. "Get it through your head, Puck! There is no 'our' baby."

"Gills, Quinn, gills!"

Quinn shoved him backwards, "Do you think I'm really that stupid? Don't answer that, I did have sex with _you_, of all people, after all."

"That wasn't stupid, that was good taste and judgment."

Quinn shoved him again. "I _said_ shut up! For your information I didn't take any of the stupid pills. _My_ baby will be perfectly fine."

"Oh. Okay then," Puck relaxed.

"Do you have any food on you?"

Okay. That was random. But then pregnant chicks always had weird cravings in the movies. "No. Sorry. I could get you something?"

Quinn gave him a small smile, the first genuine one he thought he'd seen since before they'd hooked up. "Thank you, but it's not for me. Rachel's kind of tweaking out. I thought maybe if she ate something..."

"Yeah, I'd noticed. How many did she take?"

"Mrs. Schuester gave the girls two each. Did you know that those pills have some of the same ingredients as crystal meth?"

"Two?" Puck found he was pissed all over again, "Jesus, I took two, and I felt like a junkie on a four day bender. She should have taken the midget dose, like a half. One, max. You know, I feel like maybe Mrs. Schuester isn't all that great of a nurse."

"Yeah. I'm worried. There's no point in taking her to back to the nurse's office, obviously, but I don't want to take her home like this and get her into trouble.

Puck looked at Quinn. "Holy pregnancy hormones, Batman."

"What are you talking about?"

"You just said that you were worried about Rachel Berry. And didn't bitch at me for using Jesus as a curse."

"Puck, Jesus and I have bigger issues than that right now."

Yeah, that was probably true.

"As for Rachel, I don't know. I kind of owe her one. Or I will owe her one. Or several. In the future."

"You're aware that makes no sense, right?"

"I know," Quinn shook her head, exasperated. "It's just something she said to me yesterday. Have you noticed that these Glee kids are really nice? Like, freakishly so. Like they were raised by Care Bears or something. Besides, if Rachel got in trouble, then everyone else probably would too. Anyway, I don't know what to do, and I was supposed to meet Finn like five minutes ago."

Puck sighed. He really was going to regret this. "Go. Meet Finn."

"What? But Rachel..."

"I'll figure something out. We'll drive around or something. My mom won't be home until nine tonight so I could take her to my house if I have to."

Quinn hesitated, "I don't know, Puck. You and Rachel... It just doesn't seem like a good idea."

Maybe he shouldn't have taken such great pains to still be such an ass to Rachel in public. Privately they'd begun to get along. Occasionally. When they had to. This could be an excellent opportunity to show Quinn that he could be a decent, responsible guy. Dad material. If only he could convince her to leave.

And then spend time with Rachel Berry without either strangling her or acting on the unexpected lust that had sprung up between them after they'd hung out in his room.

He had spent a lot of time thinking about her legs and how they were really long for such a short girl. And how she was probably real flexible because of all that dance training she was always going on about. Ahem.

"Quinn, Rachel and I have actually spent a bit of time together and I can honestly say that I now only find her about half as annoying as I used to."

"Right."

"I'm totally serious. I haven't had the urge to throw a slushie in her face or fill her locker with Rice Krispies for at least two weeks."

Quinn studied him. He put on his most sincere face and she relented. "Fine. But if she doesn't show up to school tomorrow I'm coming after you."

Puck saluted. "Aye, aye, Mama Bear."

Quinn left. But not before she stomped on his foot.

Puck pushed open the door to the dance studio. Rachel was standing, still in her yellow dress, with her leg propped up on the pole thing in the middle of the room and both arms curved above her head.

He resisted the urge to turn around and walk out.

He was pretty sure that yellow dress wasn't meant for such a purpose. And then he reminded himself that he was supposed to be demonstrating responsibility. That meant he was not to try to get a better look at the pale blue lace he could see under her skirt, in the mirror, from where he was standing.

She looked up and saw him in the, "Puck! Hi! What are you doing here? Where did Quinn go?"

Wow. He was going to have such a huge headache later. Her voice was louder, and even higher pitched than usual.

"Quinn wanted to get a snack. I told her I didn't want anything but she said I should eat. I don't want to eat though. Quinn should eat though if she's hungry. She's eating for two and everything."

She was practically vibrating.

"Quinn had to go meet Finn. I'm going to take you... somewhere."

"Why? I drove here today. In my car. I'm perfectly capable of driving home. I'm an excellent driver. I got my license on my first try." Rachel continued to... stretch. Or whatever it was she was doing.

Besides trying to make his brain explode.

"You can't drive in your condition, Berry. You'd probably get arrested."

"What condition! I feel fantastic. I just want to dance! Oh, and by the way, our mash-up was totally superior to yours. You boys did better than I had anticipated, though, so don't feel so bad. I've finally understand the appeal of a leather jacket, which before yesterday I thought was a trite cliché."

"Um. Thanks? Try and take a breath between sentences, okay?"

"You're welcome. You have very nice shoulders. And you move surprisingly smoothly for a football player with no training whatsoever. You know, I once read that dancing and sex were directly related. Or maybe that was an episode of _Friends_. I don't know. I am a really good dancer and so probably really good at sex. Are you a good dancer because you've had a lot of sex, or is the reverse true. It's kind of fascinating, don't you think?"

Her brain to mouth filter, unreliable at the best of times, was completely broken.

Responsible, Puck reminded himself. You're being responsible. You are not thinking about all of the things that Rachel Berry may be good at. "Do you need to go to your locker?" he asked.

"Nope!"

"Then why don't you put your leg down, and we'll go?"

"Go where?"

"My house, I guess." He was so not going to survive for very long with her in his truck, "My mom has an evening shift tonight. You can get back to normal, or well at least normal for you, and I'll drive you back here for your car later."

"Okay!" she ran over to the side of the room, grabbed two bags, and the dress he recognized as the one that Tina had been wearing. He took one of the bags from her. Only because she looked like she was going to tip over. And if that happened, with his luck, Rachel would get a black eye or something and than not only would Quinn think he wasn't responsible, but she might beat him up, because her crazy pregnant brain had allied itself with Rachel. "Thanks Puck!"

"Don't mention it. Seriously. Do Not."

"Why do people call you Puck? Other than because it's the first syllable in your last name? You play football, not the other game. The one on ice. Hockey! I knew that I knew that. Noah is a perfectly nice name. It's Hebrew in origin. Rachel is too, did you know that? Can I call you Noah? I totally don't mind if you call me Rachel, even if you hardly ever do."

Puck had managed to steer her out of the building and towards his truck, "I'll tell you what, if you can be quiet for two minutes, you can call me anything your little heart desires."

She was silent for approximately forty-three seconds.

Puck was willing to take what he could get. He helped her into the cab of the truck, still talking, and took his sweet time stowing her stuff in the bed and walking around to the driver's side. He took the opportunity to fish out her cell phone and send a text to her dad's.

Rachel used more words in the next few hours than Puck had in the last few years. The girl had very detailed opinions on basically everything that had ever existed. Puck finally understood what a migraine felt like.

Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch. He hated to wake her up (when he could finally actually hear himself think, no less) but there was no way he was explaining Rachel Berry asleep on his couch to his mother. She'd get ideas. Bad ideas.

Puck poked Rachel a few times in the shoulder. She swatted his hand away. Fine. If she wanted to be difficult. He went and put a Led Zeppelin disc in the C.D. player. And he turned it on. Loud.

Rachel woke up. And promptly fell off of the couch.


	8. It's about time, you see

**Notes: **This chapter is kind of Frankenstein. I had bits and pieces of it started all over. I hope it works. This chapter is a little different from the others, not so comedic, and tough to write. But I think it was necessary.

**iii. It's about time, you see **

Puck had stayed behind after Glee to ask Mr. Schuester a question about his part in the number that the club had been rehearsing. And then, like a lame emo kid, after Mr. Schue had left Puck just sat back down and pulled out his guitar.

He'd never really noticed how creepily quiet this place was after everyone had was gone for the day. He really should be heading home, but lately he hadn't really felt totally comfortable there. Rachel Berry had invaded his home turf.

Now, contrary to what some people believed, Puck had never been a guy with a whole lot of angst. For as long as he could remember, his mother had always worn a silver ring on her right hand. Engraved on the inside was the phrase 'que sera sera.' It had been a gift from her great aunt after Puck's father had skipped town.

Puck's basic life philosophy was similar, if less fancy: shit happened. You couldn't change it; all you could do was try to clean it up.

So no one was more surprised than Puck to have landed smack dab in the middle of a love triangle. Or square.

His feelings for Quinn were... well they were there. And they were complicated. Quinn was beautiful. Like, in the way that paintings and sculptures and shit were beautiful. In a way that made him feel small and alive and humble. Quinn had this perfect shell: the beauty, the popularity, and the grades. But he knew that underneath that stuff, Quinn Fabray was not so perfect.

It might have been the not so perfect stuff that he liked best.

Quinn liked to drive too fast. She liked to feel the burn of a shot of vodka with no mix to tone it down. She would always laugh at a filthy joke, even when some of her celibacy club cronies acted all faux offended. Sometimes she stole the pepper shakers from restaurants. Puck knew these things about her, could recite them, and dozens more, when Finn probably (definitely) could not have.

Still, Quinn chose Finn.

Not that Puck had made a serious play for her or anything. But it would have been nice to have been considered. He never had a shot though, because Noah Puckerman was not the sort of guy that Quinn Fabray's parents would have approved of.

Puck was well aware of his own imperfections. He rarely said the right thing. In fact, most of the time, he said the worst thing he could possibly think of, just to see how people reacted. His opinions on religion and politics and whatever? Not what conservative Christians like the Fabray's would have been down with. His mother and father? Never married. The mohawk.

He liked the mohawk.

Finn didn't really ever say the right thing either. But whatever Finn did say was always so earnest and simple that people just ate it up, regardless of the fact that it was probably dumb. Finn's opinions were non-existent, and therefore malleable.

Puck was so not malleable.

Still, despite their differences, he and Finn had been the best of friends since Puck and his mom had moved to Lima midway through the first grade.

They'd played on all the same teams, had their first crushes at eleven, on the same girl (Jenn Willows, their babysitter, and way out of their league), and had become the two most popular dudes at McKinley High. They'd done absolutely everything together. Until Glee.

Finn had joined Glee and then completely and totally lied to him.

That's when Puck had started things with Quinn. Finn had been way busy, and he'd spent less time than before with Quinn and Puck.

Consequently, Puck started spending more time with just Quinn.

And the feelings he used to have for her, they kind of bubbled up again. And he'd thought, hey, why not? Finn was ignoring him and lying to him, clearly violating the bro code, why the hell, Puck thought, shouldn't he violate it too?

Yeah, looking back? That was really, really stupid. Dr. Phil would have some seriously harsh words for him.

He'd gone to Quinn's house after the assembly. The one where Finn and Rachel had humped one another in front of the whole school. He'd sent her a text and Quinn had snuck out.

She'd been wearing jeans and her hair had been loose and she had looked so unlike the Quinn he was used to seeing, Finn's Quinn, that he'd kind of forgotten that she was, in fact, his best friend's girl.

Well, no. That was a lie. It would be more accurate to say that he'd kind of stopped caring.

Come on, the rhyming names? How stupid and Stepford was that?

Quinn had directed him to a park not far from her house and they had settled on the swings, side by side, for awhile, not really talking.

He'd mentioned the wine coolers and they'd retreated to the bed of his truck. After the first one Quinn had begun to talk. How mad she was at Finn. How that Rachel Berry was messing with the wrong Cheerio. How she really, really wanted to be Prom Queen. Puck hadn't talked much.

After the third wine cooler, he kissed her.

He was completely prepared for Quinn to slap him, and demand to be taken home. But she'd surprised him, and slid a hand around his neck, pulling him closer.

She'd been unsure, but not unwilling; at least he hadn't thought so. He'd been ready to stop as soon as she said the word. And then she just... didn't. So he didn't stop.

Quinn hadn't made much noise… during. She had let out one, tiny, pained mewl. But mostly, he'd just listened to her breathe in his ear. She had kept her eyes closed. Puck hadn't thought about that until later. Who had she been seeing?

Afterward she'd been so, so quiet as she'd pulled her clothes on and pulled her hair into a ponytail, though not as neatly as usual.

And then she had asked to be taken home.

Then next day, actually for the next three days, Quinn had glued herself to Finn, and barely looked at Puck.

Then she'd joined Glee. And Puck figured that represented a pretty clear choice on her part. He would have backed off completely if not for the kid.

Baby.

He absolutely blamed himself for that. Quinn was a virgin and a fairly sheltered one, at that.

Puck was experienced, and had a mother who'd been very upfront about the birds and the bees. He should have at least suggested the morning after pill and offered to drive her to the Planned Parenthood in Springfield.

He was incredibly opposed to how this whole situation was going down. He'd been the one to fuck up. And now Finn was paying for it. It seemed to Puck that sleeping with your best friend's girlfriend was one thing.

Okay, a really shady thing, admittedly.

But letting Finn think he was going to be a father was worse, in Puck's opinion. Finn was obviously freaking the fuck out.

He kind of thought Finn would have forgiven him for doing it with Quinn. Even for knocking her up. Finn did, after all, have something going on with Rachel.

The lying? Not so forgivable, even though a tiny part of Puck thought that Finn deserved the angst he was experiencing for being stupid enough to believe that a girl could get pregnant in a hot tub.

When the fact that Quinn was lying came out, and it would, no matter what she'd deluded herself into thinking, well, Puck was probably going to be kissing ten years of friendship good-bye.

That was yet another thing, on what was becoming a very long list of things, that he tried not to focus on.

So the whole Finn and Quinn thing was a huge mess, even without before you factored Rachel Berry in. But Rachel Berry was hard to ignore. Finn had a definite thing for her. Quinn was jealous of Finn's thing for Rachel, even as she kind of grew to grudgingly respect the girl.

And Puck? Puck had come to accept something about himself. He was attracted to Rachel Berry. Like, a lot. He had no idea why.

Well her body and his raging hormones might have had something to do with it.

But his attraction was, and this was the part that he was having trouble with, more than just a physical thing. He kind of liked her. Her personality, that was.

A month ago, Puck would have signed himself up for a lifetime of rubber walls and straight jackets for even entertaining that thought but, when she dialed down the crazy, and stopped taking herself so seriously, Rachel wasn't half bad.

It was very confusing and he had no idea what he was going to do.

And he now felt a little bit of regret about being so awful to Rachel. He was going to apologize. Maybe. Eventually. If he could figure out what to say.

Whatever had happened to his 'all cougars, all the time plan,' anyway? That had been such a kick ass plan.

"Hey, Broody? Did you have an embolism, or something? Because we really do not have time to break in a new guy and train him to your standard of... adequacy in time for regionals."

Puck snapped to, only to find Kurt standing over him with an odd (well, more odd than usual) look on his face.

"I'm fine."

"You really are," Kurt sighed, "it's just such a shame about your personality."

"Hey!"

"Did I say that out loud? Whatever was I thinking? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

Kurt fluttered a hand, "Whatever it is that has you sitting alone in an empty room looking all tortured. And constipated."

"You know, just because I joined Glee, and you learned how to kick a field goal, doesn't mean I won't still toss your scrawny ass in the dumpster."

"My ass is not scrawny, thank you very much."

"Dude. Your ass is not my kind of ass."

"Obviously. Look at that shirt you're wearing."

Puck looked down, "What's wrong with this shirt?"

"That shirt is not even fit to polish my Navigator."

"Whatever."

"So, do you need to have some sort of heart to heart here? Because there's a sale that I need to get to, but I suppose I could spare like two minutes."

"Hey Hummel, are your parents Care Bears, by any chance?"

Kurt blinked, "My dad's an electrician. And my mom's dead. Neither stuffed with cotton, as far as I know."

Shit. Shit. Shit. "Oh. Look, dude, I didn't mean..."

"Relax. Don't strain your wee brain attempting to formulate an apology. You didn't know and you had nothing to do with it."

"Okay. I am, you know, sorry. About your mom."

"That was really hard for you wasn't it?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, it wasn't the worst apology ever."

"Really? Cool."

"Nearly, but not the worst. Well, I'm going to head to the mall now. It's been... bizarre." Kurt wiggled his fingers in a farewell, picked up the sweater he must have come back for, and left.

So. He'd apologized to Kurt. And it had only been mildly excruciating. And maybe he hadn't apologized for the dumpster thing. Or the pee balloons. Or any of the other pranks he had pulled, both with and without the help of various members of the football team. Which honestly? He'd kind of been the driving force behind more often than not.

Baby steps. Maybe, just maybe, he could manage an apology to Rachel. It would probably even be easier, what with the liking her thing (and the fantasies he'd been having about her, spread out on his sheets, wearing little more than knee socks).

He packed up his guitar and left the school. He was going to do it. And hey, no time like the present, right?

Since he'd probably change his mind if he waited until tomorrow.

It felt like it had taken no time at all to get into his truck and drive to her house. He was kind of nervous. About talking to Rachel friggin' Berry! Jesus.

Fuck.

Puck had already rung her doorbell when he realized that he hadn't stopped to consider her dads. This was not something he was willing to do in front of witnesses.

Luckily, Rachel answered the door herself. "Puck! What..." she peered past him, probably checking to see if he'd brought the rest of the football team, "what are you doing here?"

"Are home alone?"

"Yes. Wednesdays Dad and Daddy have pilates and then..."

He covered her mouth with his hand and she shut up. He pulled his hand back quickly and put it in his pocket. She stared up at him, wide eyed. "I didn't ask for a monologue, Berry. Learn when a simple yes or no works, why don't you?" He brushed past her and stepped inside.

"Yes, Puck, please do come in."

He smiled. That right there? The bitchy tone? One of the things he liked about her. Also, one of the things that turned him on. Sometimes she used that exact tone in those fantasies he'd been having.

"Here's the deal, Berry. I am only going to say this once, so try very hard not to interrupt. Do you think that you can do that for me?"

"I'll do my best."

"Great. I'm sorry."

"You're... sorry?"

"Yeah. For the slushies. The eggs. Starting a variety of rumors. The stuff about your family. Most of the other stuff, too."

"So, this is like a blanket apology."

"I guess so."

"Okay," she seemed a little shocked, but mostly confused. And like she was making a serious effort not to spout off eight dozen questions. "And this was brought on by..." she trailed off.

"Look, I don't want to be best buds and tell you all my secrets here, okay? Just lately... lately I think I've come to get why you are the way that you are. You just want out of Lima. I get that. And..." he stopped. "Fuck this is hard."

Rachel crossed her arms, and bounced up on to her toes a few times. "I do believe that you have experienced some personal growth, Noah Puckerman."

He grimaced, "Is that what this is? I don't like it. It made me be nice to Kurt."

"You were nice to Kurt?"

"Well, maybe only nice-ish."

"Well I like it," Rachel smiled and it was different from her usual mega watt 'star' smile. Small, private. This moment would stay just between the two of them, "I'll consider your apology on one condition."

"Berry, don't even..." he stopped speaking when she laid a hand on his bare arm, just below his elbow. Had she ever touched him for a non-Glee choreography related purpose? He didn't think so.

"Quit calling me 'Berry.' I am _not_ one of your sweaty uncultured jock friends. My name is Rachel."

Puck smirked. She had no idea of just how _not_ in the category of jock friends she was. Though he wouldn't mind helping her get sweaty. "I'll consider it."

"It appears that we have an agreement then."

"Yep. I'd better go."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Puck."

"Tomorrow, Berry."

She glared at him as she opened the door, but he knew her well enough to know that she was only faking annoyance.

Puck made his way down her porch steps. That had gone well.


	9. Waiting around for something bad

**Notes: **So this chapter? Was written and then totally lost, due to some random act of technological evil, and then had to be begun again from scratch. I was not pleased. But I hope you enjoy! This chapter features more of the other Gleeks, and the first moment where I was really, really tempted to write something from Rachel's POV.

**ix. Waiting around for something bad**

Puck had, in what was a first for him, shown up to Glee club early. He'd made a joke during one of Coach Tanaka's rageaholic tantrums, the third of about seven, during that particular practice, and had been sent to run laps. A not unusual occurrence.

He'd finished running before the team was technically done practicing and had elected not to rejoin the team on the field.

Yeah. Puck would be running laps again tomorrow.

He'd been showered and dressed when the rest if the team filed into the locker room. He'd stuck around for a couple of minutes, participated in a little post-practice trash talk. But he'd left quickly, telling Finn, Mike, Matt and Kurt (who'd looked surprised to be included) that he would see them in Glee. It was kind of creepy to be the only guy in a room with his pants on.

Puck had walked into the choral room and had been unsurprised that Rachel to see that was already there, dragging a pile of chairs into the center of the room. Mr. Schuester nodded a hello to Puck, than excused himself to photocopy some sheet music.

Rachel barely looked up at him and then returned to setting up. He debated helping her for a brief moment but then flopped down into one of the chairs she'd already set up.

Hey, just because he was growing or whatever, that didn't mean he had to become some ass-kissing, coat-over-puddle-putting, Notebook watching, pansy, right?

"'Sup, Berry?" Rachel paused, and shot him a look. The same look she'd given him every day, nearly two weeks worth of them now, since he'd shown up at her house and apologized, and she'd told him to stop referring to her by her last name.

He didn't know why he couldn't just do it. Puck had stopped with all the nicknames he'd used with the rest of the club. But then, no one reacted quite like Rachel did.

Artie, for example, barely blinked when Puck called him 'Wheels' or 'Rolls Royce.' Puck didn't think it was his problem that Rachel got so annoyed over such a little thing. And really, it was her own fault that she was so entertaining when she was pissed off.

"Hello, Puck." She didn't ask him to help. That might have been because she didn't think he'd be willing, but Puck was betting it was because she didn't trust him to. She was completing her current task, arranging mike stands, with such precision that Puck half expected her to whip out a tape measure and a level.

Puck absently continued to watch her. Why couldn't he make himself call her Rachel? In his thoughts, not that he thought about her a lot (at least that he would admit), she was always Rachel.

She'd made her way over to the cupboard where they kept the sound equipment and was stretching up on her tiptoes to reach the case that housed the microphones, and was not quite making it. Puck considered the view, regretfully clothed in denim, because even Rachel Berry had to bow to the force of the upcoming Ohio winter.

Puck gave in to an impulse he'd had a few, oh, dozen or so times since that day when Rachel Berry, and her legs, had been on his bed. He wanted to see if Rachel was susceptible to his... charms. He rather thought she was, judging by how she'd bolted from the room that day, after a just a little flirting. But another experiment couldn't hurt.

He left his chair and walked, on silent feet, over to her and the cupboard. "Need some help there, Berry?"

She gasped, startled, and went to take a step back. But Puck was directly behind her so her back collided with his chest. He placed a hand on her hip. To steady her. "N-no." She cleared her throat. "No, thank you. I'm fine. I set up all the time."

"Are you sure?" Puck moved her hair over one shoulder, making sure to graze a few fingers over the skin on her neck, and was it just him, or did her ears appear to be reddening? Point: Puckerman. "I am already here." He leaned down so that his mouth was level with her ear, "All..."

But he was interrupted by a noise in the doorway, a very theatrical throat clearing sort of noise.

Puck took a step to the side, way to the side, before turning around. Kurt was standing a few steps inside the room, Mercedes, Tina and Artie just behind them.

"Oh no, please do carry on you two, don't mind us at all," Kurt was standing with one hand on one skinny hip, and an eyebrow raised.

The other three said nothing but the looks on their faces ranged from shocked (Tina), to intrigued (Mercedes) to suspicious (Artie, and what, Puck wondered was that about?).

"I think," Mercedes began, "that we're going to have a little girl talk after Glee."

"T-t-totally," Tina agreed.

"'Cause if you've been tapping that?" She gestured to Puck, "I may have seriously misjudged you."

"Mmmhmm," Kurt agreed.

"Come on," Puck broke in, "in her dreams. I was just giving the midget a hand. Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman."

"Y-you? A gentleman?"

Puck blinked. Wow. It was probably a testament to how firmly a member of Glee that he had become if Tina, of all people, was mocking him. He glared at her and she didn't look away. Impressive. Or maybe he was just out of practice.

He looked down at Rachel in time to see a flicker of hurt, or maybe disappointment cross her face. But it was gone so quickly that he may have imagined it.

However, she quickly picked up on the usual rhythm of their arguments, "Excuse me, but the correct term is little person. And, for your information, one has to stand under four feet, ten inches to actually be a little person. I am four and a quarter inches taller than that and therefore definitely not a little person."

Puck snorted, "You actually looked that up didn't you? At some point in your life you were so concerned that you might just be a midget that you had to check. That's gold, Berry."

"It happened to be an article of the day on Wikipedia, once. I read it, of course, as I strive to be educated about a wide variety of topics. As a celebrity I could be asked to comment on just about anything."

Puck shook his head. It was like she actually believed all of the nonsense she was spouting. He stood up straighter, adopted a faux newscaster's voice and made a fist, "So, Rachel Berry," he thrust his imaginary microphone towards her, "America is dying to know, just what is your position on midgets? Pro or anti?" He returned to his regular tone, "Do you really think some cardboard, spray-tanned, _Access Hollywood_, drone is going to ask you that?"

"I don't think that it is so outside the realm of possibility that I shouldn't prepare for it."

"You can't bullshit a bullshitter, Berry. Admit that you googled midgets."

"Little people! And I did not. My free time..."

"Wow. It's like a Discovery Channel documentary. Fascinating, and yet repugnant."

Shit. Audience, remember? Kurt's eyes held the same gleam that they had when he'd found out Quinn was pregnant. The maniacal gleam of quality gossip.

"Girl talk. After Glee. For real," Mercedes used a tone that implied attendance to this talk was mandatory and non-negotiable.

Kurt and Tina nodded vigorously.

Puck was glad that he wasn't a girl.

"And you," Mercedes turned her attention to Puck.

"Me?"

"Have you been reading or something?"

"I do not read."

"You sure? Because you just used a whole lot of words. Like more words than I thought that you were capable of stringing together."

Puck was saved from replying when Finn, Mike and Matt entered the room. They stopped, and even Finn seemed to register the weird vibe in the room. Or maybe not so much the vibe as the fact that Puck and Rachel were standing together.

"Hey guys. What are we talking about?"

It was Kurt who answered, "Nothing important. We were just discussing literature."

Damn. He so totally didn't regret apologizing to Kurt. The kid had just saved him from an excruciating conversation. If Finn caught on to what they'd actually been discussing, Puck definitely would have to hear Finn's thoughts on the subject. Even though he was dating Quinn and had no claim on Rachel Berry.

Finn would not be into continuing a discussion of literature. Not that Puck blamed him. Boring.

"Cool. Has Mr. Schuester been here yet?"

"Yes," Rachel answered. "He went to make some copies. He should be along in a moment. She took her seat. Tina, Mercedes and Kurt followed her.

As if on cue, Mr. Schuester entered, followed by Santana. "Hey guys! I had a great idea last night! Where are Brittney and Quinn?"

"Quinn's in the bathroom down the hall. Puking, again," Santana answered, as if Quinn's morning sickness offended her on a personal level, "Brittney had a pom-pom malfunction. She'll be here in a minute."

"How exactly does a pom-pom malfunction?" Artie asked.

Puck kind of wondered that himself. Finn got up and left the room. Rachel's eyes followed him out. Not that he was watching Rachel. She just happened to be seated in his line if sight.

Mr. Schuester docked his iPod and played them the song as he handed out sheet music. More classic rock, this time The Who.

Brittney joined them, bits of red plastic stuck in her hair, and apologized for being late. They tossed ideas around as a group and, when Finn and Quinn came back in, they warmed up.

Mr. Schue assigned parts and they ran through the song a few times. It was messy but Puck thought it had potential. Even Rachel had gotten into it as soon as she'd belted out the first lines. But then she had plenty of experience with people always trying to put her down.

Mr. Schuester clapped his hands together. "Okay! Great work today. I think we're really on to something special here. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

Quinn, Brittney and Santana left first, trailed by Finn who was loaded down with several bags.

Rachel stuffed her belongings into her bag and made a beeline for the door, an unusual move for her, since she was almost always the last one to leave.

"Oh no she did not," Mercedes muttered, hastily gathering her things to follow, "She thinks she can run? I'll show her..."

Mr. Schue looked up from his conversation with the accompanist, "Should I be worried about that?"

"Oh no, Mr. S," Kurt answered, linking his arm through Tina's, "don't you worry one iota. It's just a little bit of lady bonding, nothing to trouble yourself over." He and Tina said good-bye, and speed walked out the door.

Mr. Schue seemed torn, but seemed to have enough of a survival instinct to know not to get into the middle of a fight between Rachel and Mercedes. He made his farewells and left.

Mike shook his head, "Crazy mofo's."

Puck and Matt laughed. "Yeah dude," Matt said, "what were we smoking when we agreed to enter this asylum?"

"I resent that," Artie spoke up. "Sanity is a relative concept."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of replying Artie began to play his guitar. The song was immediately recognizable after just a few bars. Puck coughed to hide a laugh and Matt stiffened.

Mike, however, was oblivious and began singing along. Badly. "Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching yooooouuuuuuuuu! Man I love that song! Doesn't everyone love that song?"

"Shut up, Mike. Let's go."

"Alright. Later Puck. Abrams." He moon walked to the door. "Every single day…"

Matt hit him. Hard. "Ouch, dude. Uncool. What's your problem?"

Matt didn't answer.

"What's your beef with Sting? He's a total stud, even though he's like eighty-three!"

Their voices faded away and Puck turned to Artie, "Dude. Just when I think you Glee dorks are all cotton candy and cookies, you bust out some secret inner evil. High five. Or medium five."

Artie slapped Puck's palm obligingly. The guy was stronger than he looked and then he calmly said, "If you're playing another prank on Rachel, it would be in your best interest to stop it."

"What? I'm not..."

"I'm not making an accusation. I'm just asking you to consider your options before you have none."

"Dude. How is that any of your business?"

"I've known Rachel for a very long time."

"You don't even like her."

"Puck, truthfully, you don't have any idea if that's true or not, do you? Rachel might seem like a pathologically selfish psycho diva but she's more than that. Throwing a slushie in her face is one thing, but don't play with her feelings."

Puck smirked, "And if I am just fucking with her for the fun of it? What then?" And what was with these losers always telling him that he didn't know what he was talking about?

Artie looked hi dead in the eye, "I may not be able to hurt you physically. But Tina, Kurt, Mercedes and I? Are, frankly, smarter than you. And more creative. Rachel's one of us. We may be losers but, when push comes to shove, we'll stick together."

"I'm so scared."

Artie smirked. An expression that didn't seem like it belonged on his face. "You're a bully, Puck. Bullies don't take on groups. There's a reason for that." Artie rolled past Puck. "Think about it."

Huh. Who knew Artie Abrams could be successfully intimidating?


	10. This will all blow over in time

**Notes**: Ding Dong my midterms are done! I'm excited. This chapter is on the short side, but it's kind of necessary as a bridge. Also, this story is winding down. I said eleven parts initially and it'll end up being more like 12, or possibly 13. There will likely be a follow up, though. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It's really great to hear all of your thoughts. I'm glad so many of you like my take on the characters.

**x. This will all blow over in time**

When Puck left his house on Thursday, the day after Artie had basically threatened him with cement shoes, he nearly had a heart attack.

He had his back turned and was digging out his keys when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled and dropped both his keys and his pop-tart.

His mother, he knew, had left an hour earlier. And he hadn't noticed anyone outside when he had walked out the front door. But then, Puck wasn't what you'd classify as alert, before at least 11AM.

He looked down, and there was Rachel Berry, holding a paper bag and two paper cups.

"Holy hell, Berry! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Good morning, Puck."

"Where did you come from? The bushes?"

Rachel spared a glance for the shrubs that sat on either side of the cement steps. "No. I'm parked over there."

Puck followed her pointed finger and, sure enough, there was her car. Huh. How had he missed that?

"What are you doing here? Besides scaring the shit out of me?"

"Are you always this skittish in the morning?"

"I am not skittish. Could you have picked a word that was any more girly? I just don't expect anyone to be on my front step at 7:30 am."

"Oh. I apologize. I just thought we should talk. And we seem to relate to one another better while away from school and the pressures associated with the McKinley High social hierarchy."

"So you decided to put on your stalker hat and stake out my house? That's just weird, Berry."

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him, "Excuse me for considering your reputation."

"You're excused. How early did you get here anyway? I don't usually leave for another fifteen minutes."

"About ten minutes ago. I wanted to be sure to catch you."

That was… creepy. But very Rachel. Puck gestured to the cups, "Is one of those for me?"

"Yes. Here," she handed him the bag, and one of the cups. "Coffee, three sugars, right?"

"You actually remembered that?"

"I have an impeccable memory. It will serve me well on Broadway. I also brought pastry. Observational evidence suggests that teenage boys are more pleasant when fed."

"So you're bribing me?"

"I prefer to think of it as using all the tools at my disposal to facilitate an accord."

"Truce, Berry. Just say truce."

"Fine. Broker a truce. Better?"

"Yep."

"Why did you need to leave early? I don't want to keep you from a prior engagement."

Puck gestured to the street, where his truck was not currently parked, "Walking. I dropped my truck off last night; it's getting new winter tires."

"I could give you a ride? If you wanted. I mean, it kind of defeats the purpose if my showing up here so people don't see us talking, but I could drop you off a block or so away, so people don't see, if you would prefer?"

Huh. Funny how that little speech made Puck feel like such an asshole. "A ride would be great." More proof that Rachel Berry's hard outer shell was much more permeable than he'd ever guessed.

"Alright then," she walked over to her car and Puck followed.

He got in, only to have his knees wedged up against the glove compartment. He fumbled underneath the seat for a second for the lever to push the seat back. "Sorry," Rachel said, "the last person who sat in that seat was Tina..."

"And she's only slightly less short than you are." Puck fit his coffee into a cup holder and opened the paper bag Rachel had handed him. Danishes. Score. Way better than his pop-tart. Which he probably shouldn't have left sitting in front if his house. Maybe the neighbor's cat would get to it. Did cats eat refined sugar?

Rachel started the car and pulled away from the curb. "Does it take you awhile to get into character in the morning, or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the last six minutes you've insulted me one time, fairly anemically. Aside from your usual digs at my vocabulary."

"Fine. Your skirt is ugly." That could have been a lie. The only thing he'd noticed about her skirt was that it might have been the longest one he'd ever seen her wear. Stupid winter.

"Okay, Kurt. I wasn't complaining about the lack of insults, exactly. I was just commenting that you typically throw a couple in my direction before reverting to civility."

"Did you swallow your SAT prep book? I'll give you twenty bucks if you can go an hour without using words with more than three syllables."

"Do you have difficulties comprehending what I am saying?"

"No. I'm not an idiot. Or Finn."

"Trust me, I am _well_ aware of that."

Okay. So that kind of pissed him off. It hit a little too close to the part of him Quinn had ripped out when she'd called him a 'Lima Loser.' And when Puck got pissed off, Puck lashed out. This time, he went with a full frontal verbal attack, "You do know that you're totally wasting your time there, right?"

"I don't know have the foggiest idea as to what you're referring."

"Seriously? Berry, I may be pretty but I'm not dumb. A blind, deaf, Martian with no knowledge of earth's customs could see you panting after Finn."

"While I may have harbored some... feelings for Finn, feelings that are perfectly natural given our leading roles in Glee, and the need for us to project a certain believable chemistry, I never 'panted' after him, to use your vernacular. Finn is dating Quinn and they're having a baby. I respect that and have moved on."

Out of all the things that she'd just said, only the fact that Finn and Quinn were still dating was true. "I don't believe you. At all."

"I am unconcerned with your opinion, Noah Puckerman."

"Whatever. Like you have a shot. Quinn Fabray is a wet dream in a cheerleading uniform. And, hey, the celibacy thing isn't even an issue anymore. It's not like she can get pregnant again, right? Finn's a lucky guy. So why would he want you?"

Oh shit. Had he really just said that? While he'd said worse things to her in the past they had all been before he'd joined Glee and spent four afternoons a week with her.

And, oh fuck he wouldn't deny in anymore, before he'd actually gotten to know her. And like her.

She pulled the car over to the side of the road. They were about three blocks from the school, "You can get out here."

He looked over at her, preparing to say something, perhaps a joke to ease the tension, but the words died in his throat. Rachel was looking straight ahead, face absolutely stony. Expressionless. Rachel was never expressionless.

"Berry, I..."

"I said, get out."

Puck got out. Artie was so going to arrange for Puck to be killed.

And they never did get around to that whole truce thing.

Rachel pulled away and Puck began walking towards the school. So, he'd been a little harsh. He was a harsh kind of guy.

He felt guilty. Why the fuck did he feel guilty? Technically, he'd lied, because he was pretty sure that Finn did want Rachel. Totally sure, actually. The guy was just so obvious about it. But then, Puck was no stranger to lies and they rarely made him feel guilty.

Excluding, of course, the lie he was aiding Quinn in telling Finn. But that was a huge, mondo lie. Only a totally psycho wouldn't feel guilty about a lie of that magnitude. Puck liked to think that he wasn't a total psycho.

Maybe guilt procreated. Like bunnies.

Was what he'd said to Rachel really all that worse than a slushie in the face? Rachel had never seemed particularly affected by the slushies. At least, they'd never caused her to alter her behavior in any noticeable way.

She'd seemed affected as she'd kicked him out of the car.

Ugh. He was going to have to apologize. Again. To Rachel Berry.


	11. Stole my temper back

**Notes:** Part 11! I can't believe I've written 20 000+ words of Glee fic in less than two weeks. Thanks to everyone who has followed this story and especially to those who have reviewed. Oh, and do not Wikipedia syphillis. Seriously. I'm a Bio student, and I was pretty grossed out.

**xi. Stole my temper back from the lost and found**

Puck spent his first period of the morning replaying the conversation that he and Rachel had in her car before school. He'd come to the conclusion that he'd been a ginormous ass. When she'd said, "I know that" she could have easily been saying that she knew that he wasn't an idiot, right? And that was actually kind of a compliment, coming from Rachel who, for all of her craziness, managed pretty great grades.

He spent the second period wrestling with what to do. He knew he had to apologize, obviously. A better one, this time. But how? And how not to screw it up again? And what if someone saw…

Okay. He had to stop thinking like that. Why did it matter if someone saw him talking to Rachel Berry? First of all, he was Noah Puckerman, and therefore, awesome. He could do anything and people would still think he was a total god. Second, Rachel Berry was a cool girl. Beneath the weird clothes, and the snotty arrogance, and the layers of nuttiness, at least. It just took awhile to get past them.

It boiled down to the fact that he really just needed to man the fuck up, and be willing to tell everyone else to mind there own fucking business. Why was that so damn hard?

By the time the bell rang, dismissing second period, Puck had formulated a plan of attack. Step one: isolate Rachel Berry. Rationale: it was probably smarter to make everything cool, just between the two of them, before bringing in everyone else.

Puck knew just where to find Rachel. She hadn't posted a new song last night. And yes, he checked her MySpace. After the bell rang Puck went to his locker to grab his jacket and an extra hoodie that he had stashed in there. Rachel had made a good point this morning. They did get along better away from school.

Convincing Rachel to leave was going to be tricky.

He found her in the choral room, right where he thought she'd be, as she was nothing if not predictable when it came to her MySpace schedule. Rachel was sitting cross-legged on the piano bench with sheet music in her lap. She looked up when he walked in, but quickly looked away.

"Fancy meeting you here, Berry."

"I'm busy, Puck."

Oh yeah. She was pissed.

"Well that's just too bad," Puck walked forward a few steps and pulled the music from her hands, and tossed his sweatshirt in her lap. "Because we're taking a field trip."

"We are not doing anything. I have work to do. You can run along and... plot your petty pranks, or lift weights or do whatever other scintillating activity generally takes up your free time."

Puck rolled his eyes. He refused to be goaded. "Less talking. More walking. Up!" He bent down and lifted the piano bench up a bit so Rachel slid to the side slightly. She uncrossed her legs and stood.

"Even if I was willing to go anywhere with you, which I most assuredly am not, we can't leave."

"Sure we can."

"No. We can't. This is a closed campus. Students are not permitted to leave the grounds without written permission from a parent or guardian.

"Berry, just use your brain for a second. Do you think that there's a slushie machine in the locker room?"

Rachel tossed her hair, and crossed her arms, "With the way that resources are distributed so unequally and unfairly by the current administration, I wouldn't doubt it."

"Well there isn't. I leave all the time. Have never gotten into trouble."

"What about the security guard at the gate?"

Puck waved a hand dismissively, "He used to be a linebacker for McKinley. He won't care."

"Typical. And I am still not going anywhere with you. And you can't make me."

Puck groaned. He'd expected resistance, but it was still irritating. "Seriously? What's the worst that could happen? Even if we get caught, which we won't, the worst that you'll get is a warning. Whatever happened to being able to authentically portray teen rebellion?"

"Well..." she was wavering. Excellent.

"You're sixteen. Can't you just act like it? For an hour or so?"

"Why?"

Now that? That was a good question. Puck glanced upward briefly. If only there was a script written on the ceiling. "Because you were right this morning. We get along better away from here, when neither of us has to be 'in character.' And because I'm asking you to. Please, Rachel?"

A 'please' and her first name? He recognized when it was time to break out the big guns.

"Fine. But I'm still mad at you."

"I know. It's one of the reasons why we're leaving."

She looked down at the sweatshirt she was holding, "Why do I have this?"

"Because it's cold and I'm not giving you the chance to over think and back out, by letting you go to your locker. Don't worry. It's been washed recently, and I only wore it for like a half hour. And you've already told me that you have no objection to the way that I smell."

He smirked. And leered at her a little. She blushed for a moment. "I thought we were pretending that evening never happened," she pulled his shirt over her head and began rolling up the sleeves, "What happens at Puck's house, stays at Puck's house?"

Puck shrugged. "My rule. My option to break it. Now let's go." He gave her a gentle shove towards the door and followed her out into the hallway. She gave a nervous glance to the security cameras and he nudged her. "Relax. There's only one guy to monitor all the cameras. Act normal and he'll never notice us."

"How, exactly, did you come across this information?"

"My security guard friend, obviously."

"Oh, obviously." He could hear the eye roll in her tone.

They had reached the set of outside doors that lead to student parking. Puck pushed one open and held it for Rachel. When she didn't walk through, he looked down at her expectantly, "What?"

"Who are you, and what have you done with the real Noah Puckerman?"

"That was so unoriginal, Berry. I'm disappointed in you."

"I don't care!" Rachel stepped through the door, stood in front of him and crossed her arms, "I am finding the events of the last few minutes highly disconcerting. I am wracking my brains for possible scenarios to explain them, but they mostly resemble the plots of bad sci-fi movies. Unless... do you have syphilis?"

"I do not! Fuck, why do you make everything so difficult?"

"I thought it was a valid question! Syphilis can result in dementia and personality changes."

"Another Wikipedia article of the day?"

Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder, "Episode of _Buffy_. And with all of your rumored, um… extracurricular activities…"

Yeah. They were absolutely not going to discuss those, at this stage in their relationship. Puck placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down a bit, to put them nearly face to face. "Rachel. For once in your life, please shut up. I'm trying here, okay?"

She stared at him. Like she was searching for something. Finally, she bit her lip and muttered a quiet, "Okay."

Puck dropped his hands, "Okay. Where are you parked?"

Wordlessly, and Puck was kind of tempted to get his phone out to record this moment for the history books, she pointed.

They made their way over and Rachel unlocked the doors. Puck got in. His coffee from this morning was still sitting in the cup holder and the bag of Danishes was sitting on the dash.

He was hit with a new, not so refreshing, wave of guilt. Man, had he been a douche.

"So, where am I going?"

Puck knew that he had forgotten something. A planned destination, apparently.

"Um..."

"This is a very poorly planned kidnapping."

"I don't think it qualifies as a kidnapping if you're the one driving, and I am unarmed, does it?"

"Probably not," she admitted. Okay, he really, really wished he'd gotten that on film. Rachel Berry admitting that he was right? Totally a moment that needed documentation. No one would ever believe it. Damn.

"Do you mind just driving around?" That was pretty genius. It was probably easier to have a serious, potentially awkward, discussion in a moving vehicle, where they didn't have to look at each other.

"I suppose not. My car has an excellent fuel efficiency rating."

"Okay."

Rachel backed out of her space and made her way towards the security booth. Puck leaned over, and Jared, former football player, current Lima Loser, saw him and waved them through. Puck waved back.

Rachel pressed her lips together, but managed to hold her tongue.

"Okay," Puck took a deep breath. "First, I shouldn't have said what I did this morning. It was out of line."

She kept her eyes on the road but Puck saw her brows raise, "Yeah. I agree that implying that no guy could ever want me was out of line."

Puck thought back, "What? I didn't say that."

"Your implication was that I am Quinn Fabray's opposite. And you stated that Quinn Fabray was every teenage boy's ideal. The rest is just a small leap in logic."

"Yeah. That doesn't seem logical to me."

"There's also the fact that the only boy to show much interest in me is an absolutely disgusting lout. And he doesn't even like me, just my breasts."

"What?"

"Jacob."

"The guy from Celibacy Club?"

"Yes."

Was it wrong to wish for a horrific car accident? Puck didn't think so. "Berry... I mean, Rachel, trust me when I say that you can do better. And I'm sorry if what I said to you this morning made you doubt your..." he trailed off, and struggled for a word.

"Attractiveness? Sexual appeal? Self-worth?" Rachel supplied.

"Yeah. Those. You really don't have anything to worry about. In that department," he saw her open her mouth, to argue, so he forged ahead, "That's not the point. I didn't think it would make you so... upset."

Rachel shot him a scornful look. "Right, Puck."

"Really. I didn't think it would make you upset because nothing ever did. I've done and said way worse stuff."

"And you think none of that ever upset me?"

Puck squirmed a little, "Well no. Not really. You seemed shocked a couple times. But otherwise you were like, I don't know, Teflon coated or something. Nothing stuck."

Rachel chuckled. Short and bitter. "You're a moron, if that's what you believe. But I'm not going to list all of the things that stuck. You should be very satisfied to know that it would be a substantial list, though."

"I wouldn't. Be satisfied." Rachel shot him a quick look that was equal parts disbelief and anger. "I'm serious. It might have. You know... before."

"Before what?"

Puck closed his eyes and let out an impressive series of curse words. Rachel remained silent.

"Before. Before I joined Glee. Before my mom decided that the sun shines out of your ass. Before I really heard you sing. Before I found out that you have a ferret and that your gay dad's are actually decent dudes. Before..."

He shifted. Why was the seat so 'friggin uncomfortable? "Look. I'm not a words guy. I know that I've been an unimaginable dick to you. But I know that now. And I know that you didn't deserve it."

Rachel interrupted. And thank god, because that little speech had been excruciating. "You can say all that stuff, Puck, but from my perspective? Not a whole lot has changed."

"What do you mean? Berry, I've learned choreography. I haven't thrown any slushies, have I?"

"Be that as it may, the only time you've managed to be nice to me, we've been alone." Puck opened his mouth to protest, "Or with our parents."

"Not true! I was perfectly nice to you in front if Tina and Miss Pillsbury."

"Because you wanted something, that time. And Miss Pillsbury is an authority figure."

"Oh. Well, I guess you have a point there."

"Yeah. I do. You may have joined Glee but you still think that you're better than me."

"Rachel..."

"No. You know it. I know who I am, Puck. And I know that I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I have dreams. Goals. And I'm going to do what it takes to achieve them, and I will not allow the shallow opinions of others to deter me."

He watched her hands, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.

"You, on the other hand. I don't know you well enough to know anything about any dreams or goals that you may harbor. I'm sure you must have some. But why do you care so much about what the McKinley High jocks and Cheerios think?"

"You don't understand."

"Being popular? Maybe not. But, come on, isn't it kind of false, anyway?"

"Please, I am absolutely popular."

"Amongst jocks and cheerleaders, maybe. A vocal minority, I grant you. Not even an especially intelligent one. Everyone else? Would happily leave you lying in a ditch somewhere."

"Ouch."

"It's true."

Puck could admit that it probably was. He'd just never really thought about it before.

"You need to make a choice, Puck. Either you want us to be friends, or least friendly acquaintances, or you don't. Either you talk to me, in front of other people, or you don't. I can handle it, either way. It's all just grain for my creative mill. I'm not saying you have to overhaul your entire personality and become totally nice, all the time. I actually enjoy our... unique and somewhat antagonistic banter. It's the back and forth, hot and cold, evil Puck vs. civil Puck that's giving me whiplash."

"I..."

"No. Think about it, please. Because once you make that choice you can't flip back. You can't let me in a little bit, and then throw me right back out the second I say something you don't like or agree with."

"I'll think about it."

"Thank you."

Both Rachel and Puck stared straight ahead. The silence stretched on. And on. Uncomfortably.

"So," Puck cleared his throat, "why did you come by my house, this morning?"

It was Rachel's turn to shift awkwardly. "Well, I had planned out a conversation similar to that which we just had. I made notes."

"Of course you did."

"I went way off script, sorry."

"No. Not a problem. Your script probably used bigger words."

"Oh, it did! My actual speech, looking back, was terribly inarticulate."

Puck laughed, "You definitely made your point."

"Thank you. Anyway. Mercedes, Kurt and Tina suggested it. Mercedes, especially, had quite a lot of opinions to convey."

"Oh right! Girl talk. Man, but I wished that I could have witnessed that."

"It was very illuminating."

"I bet."

Puck was just glad that he hadn't been on the receiving end of Mercedes' 'opinions.'

"There's something that I want to ask you."

"Shoot."

"And I want you to tell me the truth. Unvarnished and without pretense. You are very good at telling me what I don't want to hear."

"No bullshit. Gotcha."

Rachel hesitated, "The slushies."

Puck groaned. "The slushies?" He repeated, like it was a question, even though he knew it was not.

"The slushies. Why not skittles, or Twinkies, or water or any of the other products available at your average convenience store?"

"I considered pig's blood, but it had already been done."

"Be serious. I would like to understand the thought process behind the slushies."

"One day, a long time ago, some dude in a Quik-E-Mart was like, 'hey, wouldn't it be delicious if we mixed some syrup into this crushed ice?'"

"What happened to no bullshit?"

"Oooh! Rachel Berry said a bad word!"

"Don't be infantile, Puck."

"Infant-what?"

"And don't pretend to be unintelligent."

"Who's pretending?"

Rachel made a noise that would most accurately described as a growl. Puck realized that this arguing thing that they were doing was kind of fun.

"Why do you need to know so badly?"

"Let's see. How about because I kept three changes of clothes in my locker at all times? The clothes took up so much room in that I carried almost all my books to all my classes, at all times. I took up yoga to prevent a hunchback. Hunchbacks do not land starring roles in major Broadway productions! My dad's think that I have laundry OCD. They have cards for therapists. The smell of orange soda..."

"Okay! Okay."

"The words are one thing. I could pretend that those rolled right off of me. But do you know what it was like to walk down the hall, covered in the remnants of your lunch time beverage, while everyone laughed?"

Puck banged his head against the headrest. Could he feel like a bigger piece of shit? "It's not an interesting story, Rachel."

"Stop trying to circumvent the question, Puck."

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "A couple of the guys and I were skipping sixth period one day. We went to 7-11, got food, and, you know, slushies. One of the guys said, 'wouldn't it be awesome to throw this at someone?' We came back. I saw you and... lightbulb."

"Lightbulb."

"Yeah," Puck felt ashamed of himself, for the first time in quite awhile.

"That's..."

"Stupid?"

"Stupid is too mild a word. Asinine. Loathsome. Puerile!"

"I know that. You asked."

"I did ask."

"Rachel," she looked over at him and her eyes, large and red-rimmed hit him like a fist to the kidneys. "I'm so sorry."

"Okay. I think I need time to process." She turned back to the road, and turned on the radio

The ride back to school was silent. Puck almost spoke up like thirty times, but Rachel seemed lost in her thoughts. She didn't even sing along to the music coming from the speakers.

She bolted from the car, almost as soon as the engine was turned off, with just a small wave in his direction.

She was still wearing his sweatshirt.


	12. Mix your words with fire

**Notes**: One more to go after this! I hope to have it up Wednesday. This chapter is on the long side, and was weirdly hard to write. Thanks to all the reviewers! You guys are amazing.

**xii. Mix your words with fire**

Puck was running late.

He had absolutely no excuse, as he had done nothing productive with his afternoon. Except think. Way too much.

About Rachel. About all the shitty things he'd done and said to Rachel. About Rachel's possible potential for evil genius. About Quinn. And Finn. And the itty bitty person currently growing in Quinn's stomach. How babies were kind of gross. About Artie's revenge plots. And...

Thinking sucked. And, to channel Finn, thinking was hard.

He'd paid absolutely no attention to his fourth period Bio class that morning, after he and Rachel had returned to school. At lunch, he hadn't been in the mood to sit in the cafeteria and talk about the usual stupid shit with the usual stupid people.

He'd picked up his truck, headed home, called his mom, and told her that he felt like puking. Not entirely a lie.

Puck had gone up to his room and crawled into bed. He hadn't been able to fall sleep, due to the thinking. He really didn't understand why his brain would not just shut the fuck up.

So annoying.

He'd eventually dropped off around four-ish. And had not set an alarm.

He was supposed to be in the locker room promptly at six and instead he was just pulling into the parking lot. Coach was gonna flip. He parked, badly and way the hell in the back of the lot, and jogged over to the locker room. He threw open the door.

"You're late, Puckerman."

"Sorry! I know. I'm sorry. I had a truck issue."

Total lie. Not even a good one, either.

"Yeah, yeah. I don't want to hear it. If I don't see at least one touchdown from you, you'll be running laps on Monday with my shoe in your ass! Got it?"

Puck nodded. That was mild, for Coach Tanaka. Maybe Miss Pillsbury was finally putting out?"

"Good. I want all you little mouth breathers on the field for warm-ups, in ten."

The team grunted out a chorus of affirmatives. Coach left, and most of the team, minus Finn, stared at Puck with a variety of interested expressions. Finn had turned away, pretty showily, Puck thought. Like he was a girl about to do that whole 'why do you think I'm mad at you bullshit.' Like he'd be asking, if he already knew?

Puck decided Finn was just being a moody asshole. He often was these days. That did not explain the rest of the team gawking at him like he'd forgotten clothes, or something. "What? I took a nap, sue me."

"I believe," Kurt said from where he was leaning against a locker, "that these gentlemen are less concerned with your tardiness than with a certain delicious morsel of gossipy delight that made the rounds today."

Oh shit. Puck darted a quick look in Finn's direction. Quinn told the truth? A little warning would have been nice.

"Puck. Dude," Jason Tucker, a senior, and truly terrible safety began, "please tell me that you have not sunk so low as to soil yourself with that freak Glee girl."

Oh good. The baby daddy cat remained in the bag.

"Seriously," Scott Lewis added, "After Santana Lopez? Downgrade. Unless she's giving it up and you're just closing your eyes and thinking of English muffins."

The team, save for the five members who were also in Glee, began to laugh. Puck felt himself tense, and his hands curled into fists.

Kurt rolled his eyes in disgust. "English muffins? Please tell me that you are not actually that stupid."

Finn slammed his locker shut and was about to say something, but Mike, of all people, beat him to it. "Actually, Kurt, he might just be that stupid. We had math together last year and he has yet to grasp the concept of fractions."

"Wow," said Kurt, ignoring Scott, who was cracking his knuckles like he thought that was intimidating. "There's stupid. And then there's too stupid to live, you know?"

"Watch it," Scott warned.

Mike stood up, "You know," he said, "I don't think that I will."

Kurt stepped forward to stand beside Mike and sneered up Scott. It was ballsy of him, considering Scott possessed both the size, and the mean streak, of an angry bull. "I won't either. Do you have any idea how impressive her vocal range is?"

"Berry's a pretty cool chick," Mike said.

"Yeah," Finn added, "so shut your mouth, and don't talk about her like that!"

"And kind of hot," Matt ventured, "in an uptight nerdy kind of way." Puck shot him a surprised look, "What? You've never noticed? It's something about the knee socks."

Jason whistled, "Wow. Finn, I already knew that you'd gone full reject on us. And that the little fruit was a lost cause. But I didn't know that you two," he gestured to Mike and Matt "had been drinking the Kool-Aid. What about you, Puck? Are you with them," he jerked a thumb toward Finn, "in the Rachel Berry fan club? Or do you want to spill the details on all the kinky shit she let's you do to her?"

Puck really, really wanted to punch Jason Tucker. And he'd been doing so well lately. Hadn't been in a fight for months, a personal record. Finn, apparently, had the same urge. Puck saw him stepping forward, making a fist, so he hastily moved and pushed Finn back.

A locker room brawl? Not the best way to start a game. Puck wasn't about to fuck up the season, not when they'd finally started winning.

Besides, it wasn't necessary. Jason lacked a few things: a functioning brain, a backbone, and any shred of leadership potential. He was an easy enough sort of guy to remind of his place in the world.

Puck stepped in between Finn, who was fuming, and Jason, who was smirking like he was extremely proud of himself. He chanced a glance at Kurt, who was watching him attentively.

Puck didn't doubt that Kurt would be activating some sort of text tree shortly, and that every member of Glee would be notified, in detail, of what was about to happen, just minutes after it actually did.

Good. Saved him some trouble.

He'd already made his choice. He'd made it before he and Rachel had even left the school grounds that morning. And then he had thought about it, like Rachel had asked. He hadn't changed his mind. Puck wasn't a wishy-washy kind of guy. Once he made up his mind about something, only some kind of epic disaster could change it back.

So, come hell or high water, Rachel Berry was now a person he considered a friend. And here was a primo opportunity to let the rest of the world, or at least the McKinley student body, know about it.

"Jason? Do yourself a favor, and shut the fuck up, bro. I love the Kool-Aid. The Kool-Aid is damn tasty. And Rachel Berry? Is not a locker room topic. Ever."

"Seriously? 'Cause I wouldn't mind those details, dude. With her mouth occupied..."

Puck shoved him back, into the row of lockers. "What did I just finish saying? The three of us?" Puck gestured to Kurt, Finn and himself, "are your best shot at a winning season. So, when you're flipping burgers in a couple of years, you'll actually have some glory days to relive when you try to bang the new fry cook. So don't piss us off, got it?"

Jason grumbled, but he backed down, like the good little follower that he was. He led the team out of the locker room and after a minute only Mike, Matt, Finn, Kurt and Puck remained.

Kurt's eyes were suspiciously shiny, "I now pronounce you, Noah Puckerman, a gleek! I think this moment requires a group hug. Anyone?"

"Don't start, Hummel."

Puck felt a little light headed. Had that really just happened? Had he really just publically allied himself with Glee over the team? Because of Rachel Berry? And he knew that it would be all over the stadium by the time the game was over thanks in equal parts to the wonders of modern technology, and the inability of anyone at McKinley to either keep their mouths shut, or mind their own damn business.

"What were they talking about, anyway?"

"The rumors started at lunch, dude. Where were you?" Mike asked.

"I went to go pick up my truck at lunch. Ended up skipping the afternoon."

"Of course you did," Kurt said. And actually patted Puck's head. He pulled back quickly at Puck's glare, but still. "Well, it all started when Rachel was spotted wearing an oversized grey hoodie, even more unfortunate than her usual disastrous attempts to mix plaid and argyle. A hoodie, that happened to have your name and jersey number on it."

Oh. So she hadn't noticed that she was still wearing it. She must have been really distracted.

"Care to fill in the blanks, Puck?" Matt asked.

"Nope."

"Come on!"

"Don't be a woman, Rutherford. Besides, what's with you?"

"Nothing."

Puck rolled his eyes, "Nothing? When did you overcome your Berryaphopia? Did I miss that episode of Maury?"

Matt drummed his fingers on his helmet. "She MySpaced me, the other day. She told me that she didn't blame me for bowing to the pressures exerted by a charismatic leader, and exhibiting a mob mentality. I thought that was nice."

Puck smirked. Even money that Matt remembered the exact quote because he'd had to look up a few of the words. And Rachel Berry thought that he was charismatic.

A heavy fist banged on the door, "Let's hustle, ladies," Coach yelled. "And Puckerman? You're really pushing your luck, here!"

Puck shrugged. Would not be the first time.

Matt, Mike and Kurt strapped on their helmets and left the room. Kurt had gotten his cell out, probably sending a text to Mercedes.

Who would text Tina. Who would text Artie. Who would hopefully scrap any painful and/or embarrassing plans for Puck that he had been working on. Someone would probably text Rachel.

Puck went to follow, but Finn stepped in front of him, "Is something going on between you and Rachel?" Finn looked angry.

Puck had no idea how to answer that question.

"I don't know, dude. We've been talking, and I've been being nice, right? Like you suggested that day Mr. Schue assigned us our duet? And Rachel is... a strange girl. But not always in a bad way. You know?"

"I know."

"I think that we're friends."

Finn blinked. Took a couple of seconds to digest that. "Huh. Did not see that coming."

"Neither did I, dude."

"Have you ever been friends with a girl?"

Puck thought about it, "Nope."

"Huh."

"I know. I guess that's the growing thing Rachel's talking about."

"One of the billion things she talks about."

Puck laughed. "Yeah. I try to tune a lot of it out."

Finn gave Puck one last long look and then left the locker room.

Okay. Football. He had to focus on football. Puck put his helmet on. Game face time.

McKinley won. 21 to 19. Puck had a text waiting for him when he returned to the locker room.

'Heard the whole story. Does this mean we're friends? Or would you prefer friendly acquaintances?'

He added her to his phone book under 'Berry.'

The text he sent back said, 'Where R U?'

'Home.'

'C U in 30.'

'What? Why? I am not appropriately attired!!!'

'2 bad, Berry.'

He flipped his phone shut, and went to shower.

He dressed quickly, threw his stuff in his bag, and hurried out of the locker room. He caught up to Kurt in the parking lot, "Hummel! Hey. You going to the after party?"

Kurt's eyes widened, "Um... Let me think. No."

"You should go. Without your three points..."

"Are you feeling feverish?"

"Pretty sure if I was sick I wouldn't have been kicking ass up and down that football field."

"Did you? I'm still unclear on the finer details."

Puck laughed. "Seriously, Kurt. It's at Brittney's. She won't mind. It's not just the team and the Cheerio's that go, dude. Tons of people show. Call Mercedes and everyone."

"It could be an interesting sociological experiment. I could pitch it to Ashton Kutcher!"

"You do that," Puck walked backward a few steps, "Don't worry about calling Rachel."

"Really? Why ever not?"

"Take a wild guess. Later, Hummel!"

"Ta. Tell Rachel that only divorcees wear pearls to parties!"

Puck had no idea what that meant. But he was not going to be talking about outfits or pearls with Rachel. Or anybody. Ever.

Puck sent texts to Finn and Brittney to let them know that the gleeks would possibly be attending the party. He figured that between the two of them things would go somewhat smoothly. Or, at the very least, nothing would blow up.

Noah Puckerman, capable of good deeds. Who knew?

Thirty four minutes later, he was standing on Rachel's porch. He lifted a hand to knock, but the door was eased open and Rachel slipped out. Her gaze darted around furtively.

Puck was amused. "You realize that you live here, right?"

Rachel shot him a withering look. "Obviously. My dad's already went to bed. They get up early on Saturdays."

"Oh." Puck dropped his voice to a whisper, "Aren't you going to get in trouble?"

"Technically, I've never been assigned a curfew; so technically, I can go put at 10PM, without violating any rules."

Puck smirked at her, "I do love it when you break out the questionable morals, Berry."

She looked at him strangely, "Thank you. I think. Also, you're late."

"You're welcome. And I'm aware of that."

"Had you given me a more accurate arrival estimate I would have had more time to get ready."

He took a step back and looked at her for the first time. He blinked. "Geez, Berry. You look..." She was wearing tight, dark jeans, black boots, and a dark sweater. No pearls. He was unused to a Rachel Berry dressed in things other than prints and girly colors and it threw him for a moment.

Rachel did a little twirl, "You like? I was going for cat burglar chic."

"You look normal."

"Why thank you, Puck. Your effusive compliments, as always, render me nearly speechless."

"I think nearly is the important part of that statement."

"Yes, I'm verbose. You're just going to have to accept that about me if our burgeoning friendship has any chance of flourishing."

"I'm used to it now, Berry. Now, are you ready to go?"

"I believe so," she hefted a large purse, "I've prepared for several contingencies. Not as many as I would have liked but..."

Puck shook his head. "Of course you did. It's a Friday night in Lima, you know. Not a tour of duty."

She sniffed, "I don't see the harm in being prepared."

"What have you got in there, anyway?"

"A woman's purse is a private thing, Puck. Now where, precisely, are we headed?" she set out across her lawn to where his truck was parked.

He followed. "Brittney's. But first we have to make a pit stop."

"Where? Why? What's at Brittney's?"

"Secret. You'll see. Party," he opened the passenger side door for her, and took a hold of her arm, to help her in.

"That's extremely irritating, you know."

"So are interrogations."

She took a huge step up, and between the two of them they managed to hoist her into the truck. Puck jogged over to the driver's side, and when he got it Rachel had already buckled her seatbelt.

"You would know more about interrogations than I would."

He glanced over at her, "What?"

"Because with your... past activities, of the two of us you are the one more likely to have spent time being interrogated. By officers of the law."

"Oh," he started the truck and drove down her street, "here's a tip, Rachel. If you have to explain your insults, they probably suck."

"Again, you would know."

"Now, I know you meant that as a dig, but I'm going to take it as a compliment."

"Are you?"

"Yes. Because insults are an art form. An art form I have slaved at for years to master."

"That's... an interesting way of looking at things, Puck."

"Don't worry. Grasshopper. I will teach you."

"Grasshopper?"

"Berry, if you've never seen _The Karate Kid_, I'm going to have to make a child abuse complaint against your dad's."

"No. I have not seen that movie. It sounds silly."

"Wax on, wax off."

"Did you forget to wear your helmet?"

"No. It's from the movie."

"Oh." Rachel slouched a little in her seat. Puck took a second to be smug about knowing something that she did not.

"Why are you insisting that I go to this party? I am sure that I did not receive an invitation."

"Sure you did. I invited you, didn't I?"

"You're not hosting the party."

"Yeah. This is high school, Berry. Not so formal."

"But..."

"Oh look. Our pit stop."

Rachel looked up. And his super genius distraction plan had apparently worked, because she did a full on double take when she noticed that they'd pulled into the parking lot of 7-11.

Which made him wonder, what if Rachel's whole chatterbox thing was her own super genius distraction plan? The shit she could be getting away with... endless possibilities.

"Why are we here, Puck?"

He cringed. Her voice had gotten a little shrill and in the confines of his truck, might have damaged his eardrums, "Calm down, Rachel. And, again, you're just going to have to trust me."

She studied him. For so long that Puck squirmed a little, like a total loser. "Okay. But just a little bit. But just to warn you, a few things in my contingency bag could be used as weapons."

"I would expect nothing less."

Rachel nodded once, opened the door and hopped down. Puck got out quickly and joined her. He opened the door for her. Rachel walked through this time, but still wore a surprised expression.

This was a little insulting. He hadn't been raised by wolves, as she well knew.

Puck placed a hand on her back and steered her towards the slushie machine. He pulled out two cups, "What's your poison?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Slushie, Berry. What kind? Not orange I'm guessing."

"You're..."

"Buying you a slushie? Yes. Maybe some twizzlers, if you're lucky."

"You're making a grand gesture."

Puck shifted uneasily, "This isn't a movie, Rachel. There's no frilly shit happening. I'm just... trying to make a point."

"Half Cherry Coke, half lemon-lime."

Puck felt his face twist, "That's gross, dude."

"Do not call me dude. That's even worse that Berry."

He shrugged and made her the slushie. He fitted the dome lid on, and fished a pink straw out of the bin for her. He handed her the cup, and made his own. Straight Coke. Basic and delicious.

Puck turned and made his way to the candy aisle. Rachel followed. Silently. He couldn't figure out what to say. He rarely had to, when it was just the two of them. She blathered, he reacted. That was just how they worked. She kept looking at him, trying to be sneaky about it, but failing miserably. She had no talent for subtlety.

He studied the candy selection, with way more concentration that he needed to.

"I like Sour Patch Kids," Rachel said.

Puck grabbed them and a pack of peanut M&M's for himself. He went to the counter, cleared his throat until the pimply faced nerd at the counter looked up from the Maxim he had open on in front of him. He was not reading an article. Puck paid and he and Rachel left the store.

She finally spoke, as they were walking back to his truck. "I give it four stars."

"What?"

"Your grand gesture. I give it four stars, out of five."

"It was not a grand gesture! I spent like, less than four bucks."

"Haven't you ever heard that it's the thought that counts?"

"Only from people who give shitty presents. And besides, if it was a grand gesture, which it was not, it totally deserves more than four stars."

"You're too close to it, Puck. Director's always see their own work through rose colored glasses. Also, Kanye West."

"But think of the impact, Berry! You and me, walking into Brittney's party. Drinking slushies. Together!"

Rachel considered, "I suppose it does have a certain cinematic quality. Music screeches to a halt. Everyone falls silent."

"That's what I'm saying."

"Four and a half. The ideas were there, but the execution was shaky."

"You're a tough critic, Rachel Berry."

"You know, you're not the first person to tell me that."

When they walked into the party, music didn't screech to a halt. IPod's didn't screech, after all. Puck had led Rachel around the side of Brittney's house. When they walked through the back gate they were subject to quite a bit of scrutiny. Rachel reacted like a champ, kept her head up and glared right back. She was yanked away by Mercedes pretty quickly, and Puck went over to the barbeque where Finn and Quinn were standing with a couple of football players, and a few of the second string Cheerio's.

"Hey Puck," one of the Cheerio's whose name he didn't know said, "Great game, tonight." She shifted so that she was very much in his personal space.

"Why thank you."

"You're welcome. Would you like..."

She trailed off when she caught Quinn giving her a death glare, "Beat it, Cankles. We," she gestured to Puck, Finn and herself, "need to have a talk. A talk that does not include you."

The no-name Cheerio fled. Followed quickly by everyone within ear shot. Puck looked at her ankles as she left. She'd really need to work on those. Or Ms. Sylvester would beat them into submission.

"Impressive," Puck commented.

Quinn was clearly not in the mood. "What," she ground out, "are you doing?"

"I just got here. So, nothing. Yet."

Finn diligently turned the variety of hot dogs on the grill.

"You brought Rachel Berry. Here."

"I did."

"Here."

"Yes." Puck glanced over at Rachel. Kurt was fussing with the neckline of her sweater. Rachel slapped his hand away.

"So I'm not hallucinating?"

"Is that a common side effect of pregnancy?"

"You hate her."

"Yeah. Turns out I don't."

"I hate her."

"Quinn..." Finn interjected.

Quinn sighed, "Okay, fine. Maybe I don't hate her. As much as I used to."

"Funny how that happens."

"But everyone else hates her."

The three of them looked over to where Rachel and Kurt had been. Rachel was now talking to Mike, a girl Puck recognized vaguely from the math class he had only recently begun attending regularly, and Brittney.

"If you two can stop hating her, I'm pretty sure everyone else can, too." Finn said.

Puck and Quinn exchanged a glance. Puck heard Rachel laugh.

Finn was probably right.


	13. What a beautiful state we're in

**Notes**: This is it! The last chapter, in which Puck and Rachel tentatively navigate friendship. I'd like to thank everyone for the amazing response. The reviews have been honestly some of the best I've ever gotten and I'm so glad people enjoyed themselves. I had a blast writing. I can't wait for the episode tonight! I've played Sweet Caroline like a billion times since yesterday.

**xiii. What a beautiful state we're in**

Finn's moment of insight had proved to be pretty on the money. The guy really was an idiot genius. A small pack of football players and Cheerio's had refused to interact with Rachel, or any of the other Glee clubbers, and had sequestered themselves in a gazebo in the backyard. Sucked for them as they looked pretty cold and bored. The majority of kids at the party had been pretty easygoing about the presence of Glee freaks.

Artie and Tina were in the living room, beating the crap out if anyone and everyone who dared challenge them at Rock Band.

Kurt was hanging out in the kitchen with the newspaper staff. Puck had high tailed it out of there pretty quickly after grabbing a beer. The looks floating between Kurt and the kid who took the pictures at football games? Not something Puck wanted to see.

Mercedes had strong armed Matt into dancing with her, despite the fact that no one else was. Other people had joined them eventually and they'd been at it for quite awhile, occasionally corralling the other Gleeks. Puck had been sandwiched into a circle of them and forced to participate. He made his reluctance known. He never danced at parties.

All in all, the evening was turning out to be pretty successful.

Even Rachel seemed to be having a good time and was mostly managing to overcome her lack of basic social skills. Initially, a lot of the people who approached her seemed hesitant, and looked at her kind of like she was a zoo exhibit, and might turn on them. But Rachel was making an effort at letting other people talk, and at actually listening to what they had to say. Puck was thinking she might have raided the self-help section of a book store.

There'd been a rough patch or two. Or, like seven, actually. Like when Rachel had gone into a loud defense of show tunes or Celine Dion or something stupid like that while talking to a guy in a Nine Inch Nails tee. And when she'd declared football to be for the ''mundane and culturally stunted.' Still, those were pretty minor offences, when you considered the possibilities.

People began trickling out at around 1AM and then Brittney started kicking people out in earnest at 1:30. Puck went to find Rachel, to see if she was ready to go. He found her in the kitchen, with Mike and Santana, holding a trash bag and collecting paper cups.

Rachel Berry. Model party attendee. Of course.

Santana gave him the evil eye as he entered. Puck really wished that she would just get over whatever her problem with him was. Did she expect him to pine over her, like some sad sack, floppy haired, guy on a soap opera? Maybe buy her something shiny and beg for her to take him back? Now that he thought about it, that's probably exactly what she expected.

But that was so not going to happen. Santana was hot, and had possibly the best rack of any girl in he knew, but she was a tease. And kind of a bitch. Puck had been over her approximately two days after she'd dumped him. And it had only taken that long because she'd done it publically. And embarrassingly.

And she'd totally been making out with Tyler Prescott like an hour ago. The hypocrite.

Puck ignored her. He couldn't wait until he left Lima and he didn't have to see ex-girlfriends every day.

He stood in the doorway for a minute, and listened in to the conversation. Mike was schooling Rachel on his theory of Smurfs. Rachel was nodding. Puck had heard it before. Pretty much every time that the dude had more than three beers in him.

Rachel was laughing when she looked up and saw Puck in the doorway.

Her face was really different when she laughed. Pretty, even.

Her smile faded, as he continued starring at her until he realized that he should probably say something, and stop gawking at her, "Hey."

Mike turned around, unsteadily. "Puck! How's it going, buddy? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever! Good party, huh?"

Puck tried not to laugh. The kid was a fucking hilarious drunk. "I'm good, Mike. How are you?"

"I am amazing. I was just telling Rach here about The Smurfs."

"I heard."

"There's only one girl Smurf, you know. Clearly there is something fishy happening in that village."

"I hear ya."

"It's a theory with merit, I think," Rachel said.

"Thank you!" Mike exclaimed. Loudly.

Puck gave her a warning look. A 'do not encourage this' look.

Rachel mimed zipping her lips.

"So, Berry, are you about ready to head out?"

"Well..."

Santana spoke up, "Oh right! Your curfew."

Rachel looked confused. "I don't have a curfew. That I know of."

"No. Puck does."

Puck grimaced. Yeah, thanks Santana. Having a mom that was kind of strict was so not good for the old reputation. His curfew was 2AM on weekends and, while he had a little bit of a grace period, if he was not in the house by 2:30 he could kiss his truck keys good-bye.

Rachel looked at him. "I suppose that makes sense, actually. From what I know of your mother..."

"You've met his mother?" Santana interrupted.

"Well yes. At that first Glee gathering. I met your mother, too. Didn't everyone sort of meet everyone?"

"But you said that you _know_ his mother," Santana was looking between Rachel and Puck in a kind of suspicious/pissed sort of way that Puck didn't quite understand.

Rachel looked at Puck uncertainly. He waved a hand at her to proceed and say whatever she felt like. If they were doing the friends thing there was no point in doing it half-assed.

"Natalie, Puck's mom, and my dads have developed a rapport."

Santana looked at Puck, "Really?"

"Shocked the shit out of me, too, but they're like total BFF's now.

"That's..." Santana wrinkled her nose, "super cute."

Puck suppressed an eye roll. That was such a girl move. He hated that whole fake nice thing. But Rachel, probably unfamiliar with girl politics (being more used to direct attacks), smiled at Santana.

"Yes! They're..."

Puck cut her off. He was going to have to make her watch _Mean Girls_, or something. Rachel was no match for Santana's stealth bitchiness. "I really do gotta go," he glanced over at Mike, who had nodded off at the counter, "did he drive here?"

"No," Santana replied. "Matt drove."

Puck nodded. He'd seen Matt not long ago and he'd seemed sober enough. "'Kay. We're out. Rachel? You coming or you planning on hiking home?"

She tied the bag shut, "I'm coming. I am not a believer in communing with nature. I'll see you Monday, Santana."

"Yeah. See you, Rachel." If Rachel noticed the arctic chill of Santana's tone? She didn't show it.

"Later Santana," Puck said. She ignored him. He shrugged, and followed Rachel out the door.

He stopped himself before he reached out and put a hand on her back to guide her out. That wasn't a friend thing. He'd never do that with Finn, right?

Rachel poked him in the side as they were heading out. "So? How did I do?"

"What?"

"At my first high school party. I don't know if you noticed or not, but I think I really committed and brought a lot of truth to the piece."

"Rachel. It was a party. Not a stage production."

She just looked at him expectantly. They reached his truck, and she turned to him and crossed her arms.

Puck groaned. "Are you seriously asking for a review, here?"

"Yes. Constructive criticism is a valuable part of the creative process. And, given our relative levels if experience, I thought that you might have some valuable notes. After all, I never hesitate to critique your singing or dancing, do I?"

"You really, really don't."

"Because, with all of my training, I know what I'm talking about and it would be unfair of me to keep all of my experience to myself."

"Oh," Puck deadpanned, "unfair. Totally."

"Come on, Puck. An honest critique so that I might improve for next time.

She had that look on her face. That stubborn, uncompromising look.

Puck caved, "Fine. Six and a half out of ten."

"What? That's outrageous!"

"You asked, Berry. Now," he reached past her and opened the door of the truck, "How about you get in, and then you can complain my ear off while I drive?"

She looked about to refuse, but he turned around and walked around to the driver's side. He climbed in and looked across at her, "Are those boots made for walking, Berry?"

She sighed and braced a hand on the door frame to heave herself in, "Of course not. These boots are barely fit to stand in, they're so uncomfortable."

"Then why, exactly, would you buy them?"

She gave him a look, like he was entirely too stupid, "Because they're gorgeous, of course." She crossed her kegs and rubbed a hand down the boot on her top leg.

Puck watched, kind of fascinated. The boots did cling to her legs in an interesting, very flattering, kind of way. A picture of her, wearing just the boots, flashed through his mind. And then he shook himself. He really needed to get a handle on these random sexual thoughts he kept having about her.

He needed to put Rachel Berry in the friend zone, and make her stay there.

"So, regarding your unfair review."

"Berry, you insulted football. At a football after-party. In front of football players. When you clearly know nothing about football."

"Please. A bunch of overly large, overly aggressive men smash into each other repeatedly over an oddly shaped ball. I fail to see the point of it."

"Yeah. No idea what you're talking about. Football is complex. Strategic."

"Pointless."

"Now, that's very un-American, Berry. My mom and I are coming over to your place tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. Daddy's making Moroccan."

"That sounds... interesting." Gross, actually. He made a mental note to Google. And pick up some Tums. "You are going to watch a football game."

"I'd really rather not. Besides, how do you know there will be a football game to watch?"

"It's a Sunday." She looked at him blankly. "Never mind."

"I don't know if we subscribe to those channels."

"Excuses, excuses. I'm sure I can find something. It would be a shame to let that sweet flat screen go to waste. Think of it as educating yourself. Maybe one day, Ryan Seacrest will ask you about your Super Bowl pick. You do know what the Super Bowl is, don't you?"

"We watch the half-time show every year."

"Of course you do."

"Fine. But if I'm going to waste a valuable afternoon watching football, instead if doing something productive, you, at some point in the near future, have to sit down and watch a musical, of my choosing.

"Ugh. How about I promise you my left kidney, should you ever need it?"

"No deal. My kidneys are unlikely to fail."

"How about..."

"This is not a negotiation, Puck. My terms are unflinchingly rigid."

"Fine. But I can't promise not to fall asleep."

"And I can't promise not to throw blunt objects at your head, should you fall asleep."

Puck laughed. It always surprised him when she was intentionally funny. When he glanced over at her she had that look on her face again. The one that made him uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." The innocent expression she'd slapped on her face was fooling no one currently in the truck.

"C'mon Berry. You're looking at me like I'm sheet music you've never seen before."

"It's really nothing. You're just very different from the image you project to the world. It's fascinating. I sort of keep expecting you to revert back to your previous alpha male jock posturing."

Puck didn't answer for a moment. He didn't blame her for the lack of trust.

"Sorry to disappoint, Berry, but you're stuck with me now."

"Who said I was disappointed? My dry cleaner might be, though. He was paid extravagantly for resuscitating my cashmere."

Puck turned on to Rachel's street. "Are you going to be able to sneak back in okay?"

Rachel waved a dismissive hand, "Of course. My dad's are not light sleepers. I could mount a revival of _South Pacific_ in the den and they wouldn't stir."

"Lucky. Even if I manage to be quiet enough my mom always checks the security system logs."

"I'll have to initiate a discussion about a curfew tomorrow. They'll be pleased. They think it's adorable when I act like a teenager."

He pulled up next to her house, "Did you at least have some fun, Berry?"

"Yes. Surprisingly. I had always thought that I didn't need cliché rites of passage. I think I was wrong."

Puck nodded. "Definitely. Next time, you're playing beer pong."

"Ew. I watched a match. It was unsanitary."

"Watch it, Rachel. You don't want to end up like Miss Pillsbury, mixing your own cleaning products."

"I'll buy my own package of ping pong balls."

"Awesome." A drunken Rachel had the potential to be hilarious. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"For Moroccan."

"And football."

"Ugh. And football."

"I'm going to need a little more enthusiasm out of you."

"Improbable. Good night, Puck."

"Night." Puck watched her walk up to her house. It was completely dark, so she was probably right about her dads. She unlocked the door and waved at him. He waved back, and pulled away.

Tomorrow was looking to be a good day. He'd sleep in, watch football, hang with his new bud (friend zone, he reminded himself, friend zone) Rachel. Provided, of course that Moroccan food didn't make him hurl.

School on Monday, though? Puck figured it couldn't hurt to prepare for the worst. Mixing up the social order had gone relatively smoothly, after a winning game, with music playing and beer flowing. Puck was not nearly so stupid as to believe that there wouldn't be some backlash when they were back at McKinley.

Monday could be interesting.


End file.
